All They Had
by rockstarpeach
Summary: Pre-series. Because of the way the boys are raised, it's hard to get close to anyone but each other. 15yo Sam deals by fixating on Dean in a decidedly un-brotherly way. It's not mutual. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, some Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's,

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 1 - Sam/Dean, Dean/OFC. Sam accidentally watches Dean with a girl, and it's not fair.

***

Sam was at the library, studying. Or pretending to study. He had a history project due, which he'd actually finished a couple of days ago, but John and Dean didn't know that. If they thought he had schoolwork, they'd leave him alone to do it, and he'd get a few hours to himself without having to hear about the latest hunt that he didn't really care about, or watch Dad drink a bottle of jack, and notice how Dean was out, probably hustling pool or picking a fight or meeting girls.

Dean had never been into school, barely graduating last June, a year behind, and their dad had never cared. He knew they both thought the family business was more important than calculus and economics, but they indulged him, or Dean did anyway, encouraged him, and Sam really thought that Dean meant it when he said he was proud of him for getting an A+ in civics, and told him school was important.

He loved Dean for that.

A part of him felt bad, honestly bad, like he was turning his back on his family, his mother's memory (not that he remembered her at all) for preferring school to hunting, for wishing they could be normal and stay in one place and Dad could work in an office, and Dean in a garage, and Sam could have friends, a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. A life.

Dean had girlfriends. Lots of them. Sam had always tried not to let it bother him, and as long as he didn't have to watch, to see Dean with them, it mostly worked. But Sam had never even been on a real date, never taken a girl to the movies, or on a picnic, because what was the point? If he started to like someone, it would just make it that much worse when he had to leave.

He'd never really been able to talk about how he felt with Dean, and sure as hell not Dad. He had never been brave enough to bring it up, but the older he was getting the more he was considering leaving. Sure, he was only fifteen years old, and he couldn't exactly go now – he'd have nowhere _to_ go. But in a couple of years, if he studied hard… maybe college. Maybe somewhere things could be normal, and he could settle down, and he wouldn't feel so lonely, wouldn't feel like the freak.

Huh. In any other family, the kid who studied and got good grades and didn't drink and stayed out of trouble, would be the good son.

Sam sighed and shut his book, some cheesy horror novel that he hadn't been paying attention to for almost an hour anyway, and stood, grabbing his bag and dumping the book on the return cart before heading out the front door. He waved goodbye to the woman behind the counter on his way, a friendly person, probably Dean's age, who always smiled at Sam when he came in, and once he was outside, he took a breath, enjoying the fresh air.

It quarter past nine, and the sun had set a while ago, but it wasn't too dark with all the streetlights. It was quiet though. They were in a small town, and the library was proportionally small and unfrequented. Dean would be there in about fifteen minutes to pick him up, had told him to wait inside, to be safe, to be around people – always around people or behind a locked door and a line of salt if he or Dad wasn't there with him – but Sam didn't think standing on the well-lit front steps of a public building put him in any danger.

Besides, even if something was out there right now – which it wasn't, because John usually booked accommodations a town or two over from where the actual danger was on a hunt, especially if they were going to be leaving Sam on his own – Sam was pretty sure that a handful of clueless civilians wasn't going to be any help to him. He'd probably stand a better chance on his own.

And it was stuffy in the library. Small and crapped, with no climate control, and Sam wasn't a kid anymore, and he could stand outside on his own if he damn well wanted. Dean didn't own him.

He looked up at the sky, blocking out the harsh glare from the streetlight to the left with his hand, and tried to make out the stars. They were pretty, what he could see of them, vague patterns drawn out for his imagination to run away with, and he wished he could just sit down and stare at them for hours. All night.

He heard a noise, an undefined sort of clamouring coming from around the corner, the dimly lit path along the side of the library, and he stilled, sucked in a deep, silent breath, and gripped his backpack tighter, hand easily moving to the zipper. He was as quiet as he could be, fingers twitching nervously on the tiny bit of metal, ready to open it and reach for the holy water he kept in his drinking bottle, or the small packet of salt in the side pocket, or both if he needed them.

He didn't do anything for a moment, knowing that acting too quickly could end up just as bad for him as acting not quickly enough, swallowed, and calmly turned his head, looking around, trying to hear more.

He smiled after moment, chuckled to himself and let the bag fall to the ground, strap still held loosely in his fingers, and took a few quiet steps toward the path. It was just people. Regular, human people, sounding like they were getting pretty friendly, as far as Sam could tell.

There were sounds of softly shuffling feet, the thud of a body being pushed against brick, lips smacking. Sam stepped closer, cringing and swearing to himself when he snapped a twig under his foot, giving away his presence if the people around the corner had been listening, but the noises hadn't stopped, so he moved a little closer.

There were moans now, heavy breaths, a feminine giggle. Sam wondered if this should be turning him on. It wasn't, not really, it was just interesting, gave him a perverse sort of thrill, even as it made him feel a little bit creepy, being so voyeuristic. But he wasn't looking, he was still around the corner from the couple, whoever they were, and it wasn't really his fault they were loud enough for him to overhear.

As long as he wasn't watching them, he wasn't a giant pervert.

There was the sound of a zipper, absurdly loud in the otherwise quiet night, some more mumbling, a sharp intake of breath… and then a male voice. A familiar voice. _Dean's_ voice, low and desperate, words coming out gravely and nearly incoherent.

"Fuck, yeah, baby," Sam heard him pant. "That's it. Just like that."

And then Sam couldn't not watch anymore.

He moved against the wall, keeping his body close to the red brick as he leaned around the corner, thankful for the tree that cast a shadow where he was standing, so he wouldn't be easily visible, even if Dean had had his eyes open, and the girl on her knees in front of him hadn't had a face-full of something else.

He watched for a minute, two. Watched Dean's hands tangle in the girl's hair, twitch and clench, wanting to pull her closer, to slam harder into her, but not doing it, and his restraint, his successful attempt at gentleness, bothered Sam more than seeing Dean with someone in the first place.

Before he even realised it, his hand was covering his dick, pressing and squeezing through his jeans, and his hips were thrusting forward into the touch. Shit. Well, that just figured. He hadn't been turned on by this until he knew it was Dean he was listening to, watching, and tears pricked his eyes when the girl moaned enthusiastically, and Dean's head lolled back and his mouth opened on blissful gasp.

Sam was jealous. He didn't want to be, and he didn't want to hate Dean for this, but he was and he did. He'd never had that, what Dean had right now. He'd never been with anyone like that, never touched, or had anyone touch him, and sure he was still young, but he was knew for a fact that Dean had had sex when he was his age.

It wasn't fair that Dean got to have this, that he could be so casual about it, take his pleasure where he could, and screw the fact that he wouldn't be around for long, and Sam couldn't. It wasn't fair that Dean got to enjoy this while Sam was alone. And there was a part of him, a part he'd known about for years, but had only just recently been able to recognise for what it was, that thought it wasn't fair that this girl got to be with Dean like that, and he didn't.

"Harder, baby. Faster," Dean gasped, and Sam's eyes were drawn from Dean's hips, pushing now slightly into the girl's mouth, up to his face, eyes still closed, head thrown back, moving slowly from side to side. He'd never seen Dean like this before, getting off, never seen what he looked like when he was close to coming, but Sam knew he was.

He'd heard him enough times, late at night when he thought Sam was sleeping, and Dad was out, and Dean didn't have a date. Heard him in the bathroom, or under the covers, trying to be quiet but unable to stifle his breathy moans completely.

And it pissed Sam the hell off that he was just as hard now as he was all those other times, watching some chick suck Dean's cock, the cock that Sam refused, most days, to admit that _he_ wanted suck. And he was calling her _baby_. Probably because the jerk couldn't remember her name.

It was fucked up, he knew that, to want his brother like this, and he knew he shouldn't. He tried not to, and most of the time it was easy, because there was a lot about Dean that he really didn't like, and he really did blame him for a lot of shit. True, it was their father who started them hunting, it was him who kept them going, but Dean loved it. If Dean had only been on his side, only told Dad that this wasn't a life for two kids who hadn't been given a choice, and it was too late for him, but maybe Sam could still turn out half normal, maybe things could have been different.

But he didn't. Just always nodded, and said 'yes sir', and did whatever the hell their father wanted, because as much as Dean loved Sam, he loved their father more, and wanted his approval more than anything. Even Sam's happiness.

So he was stuck in this life, this never-ending succession of towns and monsters and schools and people he couldn't ever get close to, because he wouldn't be around for long enough. And that was just as much Dean's fault as it was their father's.

But, Sam also wasn't blind. He knew Dean was hot, saw how girls (and the occasional boy – yeah, he'd noticed Dean with a boy or two, sneaking around, hoping nobody saw) fell all over themselves to get to him, saw how cool everyone always thought he was. There was something about Dean just drew people in, made them want him, and Sam wasn't immune that.

And He was kind of a jerk, sure, but he _loved_ Sam. He'd do anything to protect him, keep him safe, and as happy as he could, given their life. Dean loved him and was proud of him and told him so. Hugged him, and smiled at him, winked sometimes when they shared a joke, touched Sam's chin with his thumb and looked sad when there was something he knew Sam wanted that he couldn't have.

Dean loved him.

Nobody else had ever given him that, and nobody else ever could. Not in this fucked up life.

When Dean's attention was taken away from him, for whatever reason – killing monsters, or having a beer with some guys at whatever local dive was nearest, or…

"Shit! Yes, just like that… right there… fuck!"

Or getting his dick sucked out back of a public library by some girl he'd probably never see again – Sam got mad, got jealous. They took Dean away from him, if only for a little while, and Dean was all he had.

He clenched his teeth together, and took a breath, using all his willpower to slowly pull his hand away from his crotch. He didn't want to touch himself while he watched this. Shit, he didn't want to watch this at all, but he couldn't help himself.

Dean was… so fucking pretty. Dean was _his_ big brother, and he looked so good like this.

Yeah, so his feelings, while wrong, sure, he wasn't denying how messed up he was, made a certain amount of sense. At least to him they did. Maybe he'd be able to get over it if there were someone, _anyone_ else, that he'd let show him some honest affection. If he could let someone in and be close. If he wasn't too afraid to connect with someone because it was a certainty that he'd lose them. Then maybe he wouldn't want to kiss Dean so much, wouldn't want to touch him and look at him the way he did.

But Dean was all he had.

It wasn't like he'd never been interested in girls, he was 15 for fucks sake, of course he'd been interested. He'd even kissed a few. A school dance one time, and Dean had picked him up after, watching as he gave Laura, a girl he'd danced with a few times, a goodnight kiss afterwards, in the mild light of the school steps, and Dean smiled at him and said 'that's my boy' when he got into the car.

A boy once, after one of their soccer matches, when the team had gone out for pizza, and they were the only two boys left waiting for their rides, and it didn't take longer than the five seconds the quick, sloppy kiss lasted, to realise that he liked kissing boys just as much as girls.

But it had never gone further than kissing for him, and he hated Dean, really _hated_ him right now, as Dean's hands held the girl's shoulders tight and the movement of his hips became erratic, and he repeated, a barely audible whisper, 'yes, yes, yesyesyes' and his face scrunched up and he was _beautiful_, and Sam knew he was coming. Hated him for being able to have this. For the intimacy he so casually shared with people, while Sam was cold and alone, forced to detach himself so he wouldn't get hurt, wouldn't hurt someone else.

Dean either didn't care about getting hurt, was brave enough to feel and lose and try again, or he didn't feel enough in the first place for him to worry about it, because he dated a lot, and it didn't usually seem to bother him, the moving on. Sam didn't know which option would make him feel better about it all.

The girl pulled back, and Sam saw Dean's cock for the first time, still hard, and barely visible in the dim light, and he shivered, first with unwanted lust, and then revulsion when the girl leaned back in and licked him, one long swipe of her stupid, slutty tongue along Dean's length, before she giggled and stood, pressing her body to his brother's, kissing him, and Dean let her, licked his flavour out of her mouth, and they both moaned happily.

A part of him wished he was like that, like Dean, could enjoy something like that but he wasn't, couldn't, would never be. He was nothing like Dean, couldn't just use someone and throw them away and never think about them again. He wanted more. Wanted something real. Someone he didn't have to leave as soon as Dad and Dean were finished whatever job they were working, and dragged him on to the next town.

But he couldn't have that. Ever. Not as long as he was living like this, living like a Winchester. Fuck, he'd just made his first (and only so far) _friend_ last year at Truman, and it was hard enough to leave Barry behind without ever even having his hands down the guy's pants. Sam just couldn't imagine actually having sex with someone, actually putting his dick inside them, or down their throat, like Dean had just finished doing to that girl, if he didn't, couldn't afford to, care about them.

Dean pushed the girl back slightly and zipped up his pants, both of them still smiling, exchanging closed-mouth kisses, until Dean glanced at his watch and his expression changed. "Shit, baby, I gotta go," he heard him say, and he kissed her quick and hard one more time. "I'll call you, okay?"

The girl stumbled back, obviously shocked at Dean's quick departure, when Dean stepped out from the wall and smoothed his shirt down, before turning and starting to walk away.

Sam jumped back as fast as he could, hoping Dean hadn't seen him, and ran the few steps back to the front doors of the library. He looked at his own watch then, 9:35pm, and noticed the library was already closed, the chain locked over the handles of the double glass doors, and most of the lights turned off.

Dean had said that he'd be there by 9:30pm. He knew the library closed then, and he'd made a point of saying that Sammy shouldn't be out on his own at night. He'd said it could be dangerous, and while Sam knew it wasn't, and Dean was just being overprotective, it still pissed him off.

"Sammy!" Dean called, strolling around the corner, stupid looking smile on his stupid looking face. "Done studyin' already?"

"You're late," Sam snapped, even though he knew it was only five minutes, and he knew he was overreacting, being immature. But hell, he was only fifteen. He _was_ immature. "And it's _Sam_."

Dean frowned, walked closer, tilted his head down at Sam, and damnit, Sam swore he was gonna grow up to be taller than Dean one day, and the son of a bitch would have to look _up_ at him.

Dean looked at him for a few seconds, and Sam wished he knew what he was thinking, wished that Dean _had_ seen him watching and knew why he was so irrationally pissed off, but if Dean did, he gave no clue. Just smiled again, touched his chin in that way that made Sam's knees weak, and this time, also made him want to punch Dean.

"Rough night, Sammy?" Dean asked, stepping even closer, completely ignoring Sam's preferred choice of name. "Yeah, spending your Friday night in a library's probably hell. Not that I'd know, personally…" Dean kidded, and his smile widened, and Sam shook off his touch, slung his bag over his shoulder.

No, of course Dean wouldn't know. He didn't think Dean had ever been in a library in his life, couldn't remember a recent Friday night that his older brother hadn't been either hunting, drinking, or on a date.

The rational part of Sam's brain knew he wasn't being fair. It wasn't Dean's fault that Sam had morals. He sighed. Yeah, okay that was unfair again. It wasn't Dean's fault that Sam felt something he shouldn't. He couldn't bring himself to smile, but he did his best to look up at Dean like he _didn't_ want to hurt him, and said, "Yeah, but I'm done now, thank God. And I'm starving. We got anything to eat back at the motel?"

He could see a little bit of the almost invisible tension drain out of Dean's body, and Dean draped his arm across Sam's shoulders, pulling him playfully toward him as he walked him to the parking lot. Sam closed his eyes tight, willing himself not to let tears well up in his eyes, because it hurt to let Dean touch him like this, when he'd just had his dick in someone's mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to make him stop.

"Let's go, Sammy," Dean said, ruffling Sam's hair, and pushing his head away when they got near the car. "Pizza's on me."

Sam didn't say anything, but got in the car. His life was a pain in the ass, but sometimes, like when it was just the two of them, hanging out and eating pizza and playing cards or watching pay-per-view, Dean made it okay. Dean was all he had, and sometimes, it was enough.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 2 – Sam/Dean, Dean/OFC. It's pretty much all Dean's fault, the way Sam feels. Sam makes his first move on Dean, but it doesn't go well. That's probably Dean's fault, too.

***

Dean knew this was all his fault.

Dean had noticed. Realised it probably even before Sammy did. Noticed the way Sammy had been looking at him lately, like more than just a big brother, more than just a friend, more than just someone who looked after him and hung out with him and made fun of his hair.

The kid was a couple of years into puberty, and the change had been a gradual one, innocent adoration of a boy for his big brother slowly shifting to something far less pure.

At first it was the touches.

They'd always touched, always been a tactile pair, Dean needing affirmation that someone loved him, someone wanted to touch him who didn't just want him for sex, and God knew their dad would sure as hell never give him that, and Sam starved for any kind of physical contact with another human being.

John wasn't exactly the coddling, affectionate sort.

But friendly arms around shoulders, or ruffles of hair, or slight leans against sides, started to become more purposeful, more pointed. Sam would shift against him, just a little too close for a little too long. Would rest his head against Dean's chest while they watched television, and pretend to fall asleep like that. Would put his hand on Dean's knee while they sat outside on the grass next to a truck stop eating hot dogs, and sometimes that hand would move, fingers trailing over Dean's thigh almost absently, while Sam asked all about Dad and Dean's latest hunt, and Dean asked about school.

And then it was the looks. The way Sam would look at him, too intensely, too long, staring at him while he was pretending to study, or read, and Dean was cleaning his gun, or putting down salt, or laughing at the television. The way he would turn and catch Sammy staring when he was getting changed, or coming from the shower, and Sam would turn away, guilty. The way Sam started to hide himself when he wasn't fully dressed, like he was suddenly afraid, or embarrassed, of Dean seeing his body.

And if all that hadn't been enough to tip Dean off that Sammy was kind of into him, the jealousy definitely would have been. Whenever Dean went out, Sam would ask where he was going, get snippy and short if Dean told him to mind his own business, look hurt and then angry if Dean said he had a date. And the few times that Sam actually saw him with a girl, saw him kissing her goodnight – or that time last month when he'd gone to pick Sam up at the library and Dana had blown him outside while he was waiting, and Dean had pretended not to notice as Sam watched from the shadows – Sam wouldn't look at him and answered in monosyllables for a day or two.

Dean knew he should have said something, should have talked to him, told him how wrong this was, that this, whatever the hell Sammy was thinking, could never happen. But he could never bring himself to have the conversation, to mention something so unmentionable, and had always done his best to ignore it, while silently encouraging it through inaction.

Besides, Sam hadn't really done anything. A few harmless looks and touches, that was it. He hadn't said anything, hadn't told Dean he wanted him, or tried to jump him, and Dean didn't want to bring it up and embarrass him, when it would probably just go away on its own, once Sam was older, and knew a little better. Once Sam met someone, met a girl, and understood the difference between that kind of thing, and the kind of thing between two brothers, even brothers as close and fucked-up and attention-started as they were.

There was also a small, sick part of him that liked it. It wasn't like he was hard up for dates, and it wasn't like he was sexually attracted to his brother. Fuck no. But he liked the feeling he got when Sam would look at him the way he did, touch him, go to bed safe and content knowing Dean was one bed over.

And it was always flattering when someone wanted you, even if that someone was your kid brother.

He liked meaning that much to someone, and he was worried if he said anything, rocked the boat, that he'd push Sam away and have no-one. Dean made friends wherever he went. Some he fucked, some he didn't, but none of them ever really meant anything to him besides an honest good time, in the moment. Sure, he thought about most of them after, when he'd moved on to someplace else, missed some of them, wished he could see them again, but he never really let himself get attached.

When it came down to it, Sam was all he had, and he didn't want to chance losing him.

Or he hadn't, until he had no other choice.

They'd been in the same town for a couple of weeks, not long enough to bother getting a house, or an apartment, but long enough for Dean to pick up a few freelance shifts at the local garage to make some extra cash. The girl that worked the gas pumps thought he was cute, and it hadn't taken much more than a smile and wink from Dean before she was nudging her parents to give the handsome stranger a little work.

Molly was her name, and Dean liked her. She was short, and her clothes were about a size too big, liked she's lost weight once she started to enter adulthood, and just never bothered with new ones. But she was cute, and funny, and she got Dean's jokes, and made him feel like he wasn't just passing through.

He liked her, and he was going to ask her out that night after the garage closed. Maybe take her to a movie, because she was only 17 and not old enough to get into a bar. Neither was Dean, at 19, but ID had never been a problem for the Winchesters. Or the 'Framptons', as they were known in this little three-streetlight-town, in the middle of nowhere, Massachusetts.

So a movie, yeah, and maybe a walk after, when it got dark and the visibility was poor. Dad was in tonight, so he couldn't take her back to the hotel, but there was a lake nearby, surrounded by forest, and hardly anybody went there at night. Not unless they were thinking what Dean was thinking, and really wouldn't care.

He just got finished changing the alternator belt in a beat up '84 Pontiac Firebird, and wiped his face, then his greasy hands, on a cloth, before stuffing it back into the back of his pants, and heading over to where she standing. She was between customers, leaning against one of the pumps, one foot crossed over the other, fingers drumming over her hips as she sang along under her breath with the radio.

"Hey Molly," he said, smiling at her, one eyebrow shooting up briefly, tongue touching his top teeth, unable, for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely, to not flirt when a pretty girl was around, even if he was trying to genuinely ask her out. Maybe that was the problem. It wasn't often he was genuine with girls. "Slow today, huh?"

Okay, he was definitely losing his touch, cause that was a stupid-ass thing to say. Nothing even remotely sexy or offensive about it, and so completely unlike him. Still, it _was_ slow that day, and they were both bound to get off a little early.

"Off season," she said, smiling back, standing up straighter. Her hands moved slightly, so they were resting on her back, just above her ass, and when she took a breath in, Dean's eyes couldn't help but be drawn to her chest. It was a nice chest, and Dean tended to look even when they weren't. "It's always slow this time of year."

Dean cleared his throat and forced his head up to look at her face instead, and he was pleased when she tried to hide a smile, instead of slapping him. "So, uh…" he started, ready ask her if she had any plans after work. And that's when he saw Sam.

Shaggy mop of brown hair half in his face, book bag slung over one shoulder as he walked down the dirt driveway that let into the garage from the road, looking at Dean with his head tilted slightly. The garage was on Sam's way back from school to the motel, and it wasn't the first time that he'd stopped by to say 'hi', or ask Dean when he'd be home, or if he wanted Sam to pick up anything from the store.

It was, however, the first time that Sam had seen Molly, the first time since the library blow job that Sam had seen him standing next to a hot chick, who was obviously into him, and the first time since then that he'd seen Sam's look change from happy to see Dean, to cautious, to jealous to angry to shut down, in such a short time.

Fuck.

He couldn't spend the rest of his life letting his little brother cock-block him just because he had some seriously unrequited fantasies, and it wasn't like Sam was even saying anything, wasn't trying to make Dean feel bad for talking to a girl, or trying to make Dean look bad so she wouldn't like him.

But… Dean heaved a mental sigh, and ground his teeth together. But he just couldn't take that look. That puppy dog look, that Sam had been working on lately, that look that always made Dean want to give in, give Sammy whatever he wanted, and son of a bitch, but Dean just _knew_ that he was only starting to perfect it. Give the kid enough time, and he'd have Dean dancing the Macarena, naked in a crowded bar, just because he'd asked nicely.

"Sammy," he said, grinning a half-assed grin, and putting his hand on his brother's shoulder when he got close enough, pulling him to stand next to him. He knew it was a risk; when Sam was in a mood like this he didn't usually like to be touched, but he just couldn't take being the cause of that look on his face. "This is Molly. She works here. Got me the job."

He nodded to Molly, who smiled back at Sam genuinely.

"Your little brother?" she asked, still looking at Sam, and stepped forward to give him a friendly hug, obtrusively invading his personal space, the way some girls did. "It's great to finally meet you. Dean talks about you all the time."

"He does?" Sam asked, looking puzzled when he pulled back after giving Molly a slightly uncomfortable pat on the back.

"Yeah, don't get too excited, kid," Dean snickered, and gave his arm a slight shove. "It's mostly bad."

"Funny," Sam said, almost snarling at Dean and rolling his eyes. "Look, I was just stopping to by to…" he paused for only a second, but Dean could see him falter over the words, see him change his mind and say something else. "To say I'm not gonna be in tonight."

"No?" Dean asked, his attention starting to drift when the phone inside the convenience store portion of the gas station rang, and it reminded him that he had to call Mr. Ransom and let him know his car was ready to be picked up. "Got a hot date?"

Sam opened his mouth, but hesitated again, and Dean could tell he was on the verge of saying yes, even though it would have been a lie.

"Going to hang out with some buddies," he answered instead. "Just wanted to let you know, so you don't… you know… worry." Dean could have pointed out that Dad was back at the motel tonight, so he could have just told him when he got there, but he didn't, because he didn't believe Sam's story in the first place, and didn't want to make him feel bad about it.

"But," Sam continued, looking toward Molly and actually managing a smile this time, and Dean was glad the girl couldn't tell it was forced. "I guess you won't be in either."

Dean made a decision then. Probably the wrong one. Definitely the wrong one, because it was the one that started everything, the one they could never come back from, the one that would effectively ruin things between them. Dean made it. So really, it was all Dean's fault.

"Actually," he said, sparing Molly a passing glance before looking at his watch. "I get off here in a couple hours, and I was kinda hopin' we could hang out some. You know, brother time." He gave Sam a beaming grin, and he saw Molly's face, soft and impressed, and falling harder for him because he was such a kick-ass big brother, out of the corner of his eye.

"So if your plans fall through for any reason," Dean offered, hoping he made it clear that he wouldn't ask about why, or what Sam was doing at the motel when he got there, "I should be back around six."

Sam cleared his throat and took a step back, fingers playing absently with a fraying edge of his too-old backpack that had been sewn up and patched way too many times. By Dean. The thing looked like hell, and Dean always cursed and growled and ended up with bloody fingers, because he couldn't sew worth a damn, but he always tried, because Sam loved that backpack.

"Yeah," Sam said, non-committal, and started to walk away, backward at first. "I'll uh… I'll see you later, Dean. Molly," he said, and turned to wave to her, before turning his back on them and walking down the other side of the wide dirt path.

"Bye Sam," Molly called, and moved to face Dean, lips closed over her teeth and pulling up at the corners, face tilted down slightly as she moved in to stand right in front of him.

"That's really nice," she said, one hand lifting up to touch him on the arm. A touch he allowed, because he wanted it. Hell, he wanted her touch somewhere else, wanted to touch her back in all kinds of naughty places, but sadly not tonight. "Offering to spend time with your brother like that."

Dean cringed inwardly, because he knew Sam wasn't far enough away not to hear her, and it would only make him feel bad. "Yeah," agreed, quieter than she'd spoken, ducking his head and putting on his best shy smile. "We move around so much he doesn't really get to make many friends, so I try to hang out with him as much as I can."

He was stricken with the truth of that statement, harsh and sharp, and he wished things could be different for Sammy. Even for him, because yeah, as much as he liked travelling, hunting, meeting new people, it wouldn't suck to hang out in the same place for a while. But they couldn't be different. Sam was a Winchester, and this was his life. Dad had gotten used to it, Dean had gotten used to it, and Sammy would have to get used to it.

"You're so sweet," Molly told him, her voice almost a whisper now as she leaned in close, and kissed him, lips closed and pressing down lightly over his. She pulled back before either of them could deepen it, when a car drove up to the pumps and stopped in front of them. "Duty calls," she said, and lifted the nozzle.

Dean just cocked his head at her, flirty and confident, and said, "Tomorrow night. Seven o'clock," like it was a sure thing, even though he hadn't actually asked her yet.

She grinned back at him and nodded, and Dean walked away, to get back to what little work he had left to do before he was finished for the day.

***

He pulled up in front of their motel room at half past six, later than he thought, not because they'd suddenly gotten busy, but because Molly had come up behind him after he'd finished working on some piece of shit civic, and was washing his hands and face with soapy water in the outside sink next to the dirty, oil-stained pavement.

She hadn't been so overt as to wrap her arms around him, but she touched him on the side, startling him slightly at first, but when her hand closed tighter, not pulling away, he smiled and turned, putting an arm around her and bringing her closer.

They'd kissed for a while, talked for a while longer, and kissed again, her small, soft body pushed close to his, wiggling slightly and getting him hard. He'd wanted to stay, but he'd told Sam he'd be home, so he apologised to Molly, promised to see her tomorrow, and headed back.

He saw the light on inside their room, and put his key in the lock, turning it and opening the door, pleased, but not surprised, to see his dad sitting at the table, notes open in front of him, twirling his cell phone around in one hand and a pen in the other, and Sam sitting on one end of the two-seater sofa, pretending to watch something on television.

He shifted on the seat, excited, when the door was opened, belying his casual pose, and turned to Dean, making a concerted effort to keep from smiling. Sam nodded at him and Dean closed the door behind himself, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it over the edge of the couch next to Sam, before crossing the floor to the washroom.

"Gotta shower," he said, and Dad grunted, without looking up. "Be ready in ten, Sammy."

"Whatever," he heard Sam mumble, grumpy, obviously not pleased at being told what to do, at Dean just assuming he'd come out with him and not even asking about his 'plans', or if they'd been cancelled. But he didn't argue, and when Dean was out of the shower, clean and dressed, Sam was hovering by the door.

"Takin' Sam out on a date, Dad," Dean said, proud of himself for managing to sound completely serious around his huge smirk. "Back later."

"Be safe, boys," was all John said, but he did raise his head slightly, and nod at them, before getting back to his work. And it was funny, because even though John knew Dean had been kidding, most parents, when their kids said 'date', and the parents told them to 'be safe' were talking about condoms, but Dean and Sam knew John meant rocksalt and holy water.

Sam was quiet all the way to the Impala, was quiet even after they got inside and Dean started driving. He didn't even bother to ask Dean where they were going, and Dean could feel the tension radiating from him, could tell he was pissed off, but honestly had no idea why.

He'd given up a hot date tonight to hang out with Sam, because he knew Sam had been bullshitting about having plans, and it wasn't like Dean was doing it grudgingly. They spent time together all the time, and they both did it willingly, looked forward to it, so Sam's attitude didn't make much sense for one, and was pissing him off, for another.

"What's your problem, Sammy?" He asked, when they were 5 miles down the road and a quarter the way to the nearest big(ish) town. "If you didn't want to come out with me, you didn't have to."

"Date?" Sam asked, almost spitting out the word, and he turned his head to Dean for a couple of seconds, before looking back out the front window.

"Seriously?" Dean asked, still looking forward, because he was driving, and he couldn't take his eyes off the road. Not because he didn't want to look at Sam. "_That's_ what you're upset about?" That was so sad, it was almost funny. "Sam, get your head out of your ass. I don't think Dad thinks you're _that_ much of a girl!"

"Shut up," came Sam's petulant reply. He was silent for another 8 miles, and so was Dean, until Sam began to shift in his seat, sighing exaggeratedly. If Dean didn't know better, he would have thought he was trying to get his attention.

"What?" Dean asked, again. "Really, Sam," he said, and since they were on a straight road for the next few minutes at least, and there were no other cars in sight, turned to look at Sam, and put one hand on his arm. "What's goin' on?"

Sam pulled his arm away from Dean with unnecessary force, and turned his head, scowling. "I don't need your pity," he said, quietly.

"Pity?" Dean asked, honestly puzzled. "Sam… what… You think I'm hanging out with you because I _have_ to?"

Sam didn't say anything, but Dean could see him shrug in his peripheral field of view.

"You're such a friggin' dummy," Dean said, frowning, but his words came out teasing. He reached across the front seat and put his hand on the back of Sam's head, playfully pushing it forward and messing up the long hair at the back.

"Stop it, Dean!" Sam ordered, but he was laughing, thank God, and Dean knew he'd done his job. Take care of Sammy, make him happy. Half Dad's orders, half his own.

Dean drew his arm back and put his hand on the wheel again. "Sit tight, Samantha," he said, friendly and mocking. "I'm takin' you to a movie. And you better not be a prude if I try somethin' naughty."

Sam huffed out a laugh and Dean smiled, and they made the rest of the drive in companionable silence.

***

When they got to the theatre, a rundown shoebox of a thing, red faux-velvet on the seats and floors and even the walls, Dean let Sam choose the movie. There were only four choices, one having already started, and neither of them had even heard of the others. But Sam looked at the posters, and chose the one with graphics of an explosion, and a hot car, and an even hotter guy, holding a pretty girl.

Dean bought popcorn, and Sam insisted on using his leftover lunch money to buy a soda. He could only afford a small, but Dean didn't complain, and he only took a few sips of it and left Sam to the rest. They laughed their way through the movie, even when it wasn't appropriate, earning them some dirty looks from other movie-goers, which only made them laugh harder.

Dean threw popcorn at the screen once, during a particularly romantic and girly scene, and Sam smacked him on the leg.

"Dean!" he'd said. "Knock it off! You're gonna get us kicked out!"

"Oh, Sammy," Dean had growled in response, turning his head toward his brother, speaking into his ear. "I love it when you get all commanding."

He'd noticed then that Sam had froze, shrunk back a little, got quite, and Dean cursed himself for pushing it too far. Teasing was one thing, but he reminded himself to be more sensitive about Sammy's little crush. He needed to help him get over it, not encourage it.

When the movie ended Sam seemed relaxed again. It probably helped that Dean had thrown popcorn in his lap, and slurped up the last of the soda obnoxiously loudly though the straw, the last drops bouncing off the almost melted ice at the bottom of the cup. He'd turned to Sam after, big toothy smile, and threw the cup down on the floor, and Sam and shook his head, but couldn't hold back his own smile at Dean being Dean.

They left the theatre, Dean pulling on the back of Sam's jeans, taking advantage of the fact that he hadn't yet grown into Dean's hand-me-downs, to stuff a few horded kernels of popcorn inside. Sam squealed and pulled back, arms flailing out to try to hit Dean, but he missed when Dean jumped away, laughing.

"Get in the car, Samantha," he said, and even though Sam tried to look pissed, there was just no way he could have pulled it off.

"Dean?" Sam asked, after they were almost back in their smaller-than-a-town, in a voice that sounded quiet over the blare of the music, but would have been on the loud side without it. Dean looked over briefly, raising his eyebrows, asking 'what' without saying it, and looked back to the road.

"Let's not go home yet."

They'd both, Sam mostly, but Dean did it too, taken to calling motels, cottages, the occasional house, _home_. It was hard not to have one, and any place they would be in long enough for Sam to get enrolled in school, well… that was the closest thing they had. It hurt to think of those random, transient places as home, but it hurt more not to have one at all.

"Not much open around here, Sammy," Dean said, not really knowing what else they were going to do, if they didn't go back to the motel. "I mean, there's that one bar, but you're _way_ too young…"

"No, I mean… I don't even want to go anywhere. I just don't want to go back yet." Dean could hear the wistfulness in his voice, could tell that he just didn't want the night to be over yet. Sure, they spent a lot of brother time together, but it was usually cooped up in the motel, when their dad was gone, and this was the first time they'd been out, alone, in months.

"Sure Sammy," Dean agreed, feeling indulgent. He liked these times together just as much as Sam did. Maybe more. "Hey, you wanna check out the woods near the lake? I hear they're haunted!" He waggled his eyebrows, and Sam laughed.

They both knew the rumour wasn't true.

"Sounds great," Sam agreed, and Dean drove them to the paved parking lot, a few feet back from the man-made beach that took up about a tenth of the shoreline of the small town lake. There were a few other people there, one couple on a blanket, looking at the stars, and trading touches and kisses, another two on a picnic bench behind them, sharing a bottle of something.

Dean was reminded acutely of what he'd initially thought of tonight, for him and Molly, but he didn't let it bother him too much. They still had a date for tomorrow.

He watched the girl that had been sitting on the bench get up, strip off her pants and shoes, running into the cold water, only getting a few inches deep, and then running back out, screaming and laughing, along with the rest of her friends, presumably from the cold.

Yeah, no way in hell this place was haunted, but if Sammy wanted to look around, so did he.

They didn't bother heading toward the beach, didn't want the company. Just veered off into the forest to their right, sticking close together as they weaved through trees and over fallen branches, twigs and leaves snapping and crunching under their steps.

"Dean…" Sam's small voice said, in the quiet of the wood, and Dean cut him off quickly. He had a tight feeling in his chest, that told him they'd both be better off if he didn't let Sam speak just then.

"Shhh, little brother," he told him, a mock-whispered, pretending to look around, as if for evil spirits, and grabbed Sam's hand, tight, and yanking him along as he started a brisk jog through the trees. "Think I heard somethin'."

They ran and tripped and giggled and panted for breath as they moved. They ran for a long time, probably fifteen solid minutes, and when they were finished they ended up beside the water, about a mile down from the beach. They came out of the trees and slowed down, Dean relaxing his grip on Sam, but Sam not letting go, and they walked the few steps it took to bring them into the open, on the not-quite-beach, made up of mostly grass and mud.

"Think it got away," Dean said, attempting a laugh over his heavy intake of breath, and then laughed again at himself for sounding so out of shape. He needed to spend more time working out, and less time hitting on girls. He was too skinny, not enough muscle to carry him fast and far enough.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, and finally let go of Dean's hand, to fall forward and place his hands on his knees, head down, and breathing deeply. Dean thought it was cute that he was so winded, even more than Dean was, but decided not to call him on it.

"Home time, Sammy," Dean said, when he was sure he could talk again, without it sounding strained from lack of oxygen. "I'm beat." He patted Sam on the shoulder and turned, started walking along the shore back to the beach where they'd parked, trusting his brother to follow.

Sam did, Dean could tell by the footfalls behind him, and they made much faster time back to the car when they were walking a straight line, through flat terrain. They got closer, and Dean could see the Impala up ahead, could see the four teenagers, still there, kissing and drinking and laughing, and he glanced back to Sammy, to tell him… He didn't know. 'Hurry up' or 'We're almost there'… something.

But he didn't get the chance to say anything, because Sam grabbed his hand, fingers squeezing hard, _really_ hard, so Dean almost winced, and yanked on his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Dean opened his mouth to say something else 'Sammy?' or 'What the fuck?' or 'Dude, what's going on?' but he couldn't say any of those things either.

Because Sam stepped forward, stepped right up against Dean, no hesitation at all, and perched up on his toes, hand still holding Dean's like a vice, and kissed him.

And really, what the fuck could Dean do in that situation?

Yeah, nothing, you're fuckin' right. So that's what he did. Nothing. Just let Sam kiss him, let his younger brother press soft, so soft, lips to his, vulnerable, and willing to do more, to do whatever Dean wanted, but Dean did nothing.

Sam leaned in further, and Dean should have leaned back, should have stopped Sam, should have pushed him away, told him it was wrong, it was fucked up, and this wasn't what brothers did, but he did nothing.

Just waited – even though he should have said something years ago, let Sam know, when this infatuation had first started, that it was unhealthy – until Sam was done, until he drew back, licking his lips, stepping back and looking down, ashamed and embarrassed.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, not looking at Dean, finding something in the almost-sand-but-mostly-grass that was suddenly very compelling.

"Sam…" Dean started, but honestly had no idea what was going to follow that one word. Something about it not being right, but how he didn't blame Sam for it, that was for damn sure, but he couldn't find the words.

"Sorry," Sam said again, and started to walk forward, brushing past Dean, shoulder hitting Dean's ribs roughly, and Dean let out a sharp 'oomph'. That was going to bruise, the stupid fucker.

"Sam!"

"Dean, just… leave it. Sorry. I didn't mean…"

Dean heaved a sigh and jogged a few paces to catch up with Sam. Dean didn't think for a second that they'd be better off just letting this go, not anymore. It was too late for that, but Sam didn't want to talk, and Dean wouldn't have known what to say anyway, and it wasn't like they were girls or anything. So if Sam wanted to let it go, Dean could let it go. "Yeah, okay, Sammy. Let's head home. Dad's gonna be worried."

Only there was no way in hell that their dad would be worried. If Dean hadn't said they were going out, he probably wouldn't have realised they were gone, unless he needed one of them for something, to look something up, or get him a coffee, or some Jack. But Sam's shoulders tightened, and he kept walking, and they made their way to the car. Dean drove them home, neither of them saying anything else, or even looking at the other.

When they got back, Dean waited in the car while Sam got out, silent and stiff, and gave him enough time to disappear into the safety of the covers, before he went inside after him.

He didn't know what the fuck he was gonna do about this, about Sammy kissing him, like it was _okay_, like they'd just been out on a date, and expecting Dean to kiss him back. No idea at all, but he did know it was all his fault.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 3 – Sam/Dean. Sam and Dean deal with the fact that Sam tried to stick his tongue down Dean's throat the way Winchester's deal with all their issues: by ignoring it.

***

It had been a week since Sam's moment of complete and utter stupidity. A week since his brain had apparently shut down, however briefly, and he'd just acted, just did, just took what he wanted instead of thinking about it first, for probably the first time in his life.

A week since his brother had taken him to a movie, and then to the lake after, and common sense had completely fled Sam, and Dean had looked so strong and so gorgeous, and they'd really been having an awesome night, and Sam had kissed him.

Kissed his own freakin' brother. Just… just pulled on his hand and stood on his toes and… kissed him.

Dean hadn't kissed back, even when Sam tried to push for more, and shit, now that he was thinking straight again he figured he was lucky that Dean hadn't punched him one, but at the time he hadn't been thinking very much at all.

He had just been mortified. Embarrassed. Really, really embarrassed, and he'd overacted, because hey, that's what you did when you were 15, and an idiot, and you'd just kissed your big brother, who now knew about your completely messed up crush. He'd bumped into Dean, hurting him he knew, and he was glad at the time, because Dean had hurt _him_, by not kissing back. Never mind that Sam should never have done something so stupid in the first place.

He hadn't said anything to Dean the whole way home, and he hadn't wanted to, ever again. He'd wanted to crawl in a hole, and come out when he could leave for college, and never have to look at Dean's face, again. Never see again, or be reminded of the way he'd looked, shocked, horrified, _hurt_, for fuck's sake, when Sam had kissed him.

What the hell gave Dean the right to look _hurt_?!

He was glad afterward, even as he felt the sharp sting of rejection, again, when Dean seemed just as happy to avoid each other that night.

After Sam had entered the hotel room, and mumbled his hello to their father, who was in one of the beds at that point, reading something by the light of the nightstand lamp, he stripped off his clothes, hastily stuffing his gangly legs into a pair of track pants. He got into the other bed quickly, the bed he'd been sharing with Dean since they'd been in this town, on the nights when their dad was around.

They'd asked him to get a suite, like they usually did when they were going to be somewhere a while, but John had just grunted and told them they didn't need all that space, because he probably wasn't going to be there most of the time anyway.

Sam had heard Dean come in, and pulled the covers tighter around him, as if they could protect him from how stupid he'd been, from how stupid he felt. He listened closely, heard Dean's soft footfalls, heard him shuck out of his own clothes, and then he felt him. Felt his presence, standing next to the bed, felt him looming over him, even though Sam knew he wasn't, and he was probably just hyperaware and imagining things.

And then he opened one of his eyes, just a crack, and saw Dean's arm reach out, grab the pillow that Sam wasn't using, and walk away, tossing it down on the two-seater sofa. He'd swallowed a lump in his throat, and desperately hoped he hadn't fucked things up beyond repair.

***

As it turned out, he hadn't.

The next morning, when Sam woke up, groggy at first, and much too hot under the two layers of blanket pulled up over his head, he wasn't sure what to expect. He cautiously pulled the covers down, eyes peaking out to first look at his dad's bed, seeing that he wasn't in it, and then to the clock on the table, letting him know it was five past eight. Well, that explained why Dad wasn't in bed. And why he probably wasn't even in the room at all. He liked to get an early start, was probably a town away by that point, and probably wouldn't be back for a few days.

Sam didn't usually sleep in this late, none of them did, but he'd slept for shit last night, lying much too still, listening to their dad snore, and Dean toss and turn, trying to get comfortable on a couch that wouldn't have been big enough for a child.

He stopped moving, tried to quiet his breathing, and listened for any noises, for any signs that Dean was in the room with him. He heard the shower running, which if he had been alert from the start, he would have noticed earlier, and he thought about getting up, getting dressed, leaving the room before Dean got out, before he had to see him and face what had happened last night.

He managed to get the covers down to his hips, the chill of the room sending goose bumps over his bare arms, before he heard the shower shut off, and cursed, covering up again, and pretending to sleep. Maybe Dean would get dressed and leave without the two of them having to talk. He knew his older brother had to work that day, and he was expecting him to be evasive, to want to get out there as soon as possible.

A minute went by, two, in which Sam imagined Dean in the washroom. Imagined him getting out of the shower, clean and wet, tiny, clear droplets of water making their way down his skin, hair heavy and stuck to his skull, messy and smelling like shampoo. Imagined him towelling off, rough cotton scratching over his skin, turning it red when he worked it too hard.

He imagined – before he could think better of it, and stop – himself in there with Dean, falling to his knees and licking his skin all over, tasting the soap on him and soothing the irritation caused by cheap motel towels, making Dean moan under him, over him, tell him he was great, and beg for more.

He groaned, dick growing harder than normal for first thing in the morning, and squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to deny the feelings, even as one hand slipped down his front and into his pants, sliding over his hard-on, causing him to gasp.

He didn't get off more than three or four pulls, face tight, teeth biting down on his lower lip to keep from calling out, before he was hit in the face with the same wet towel he'd only imagined a moment ago. He quickly reached up to bat it away from his face, and scowled, blinking his eyes open, seeing Dean standing next to the bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans, not even fastened, and smirking down at him.

"Mornin' Sammy!" he called brightly, hitching up his pants and turning around, bending over and searching in his bag, probably for a shirt. His pants were still riding a little low in the back, since he hadn't done them up yet, and Sam could see the small dent at the base of his spine peaking out over the faded blue denim, barely covering the perfect, round swell of his ass.

_Asshole_! Sam thought, and he poked his tongue out at Dean behind his back. Did the stupid jerk have to do that? Did he have to tease like that, when he knew… He _knew_!

"Stupid jerk," Sam mumbled, tossing back the covers and using the fact that Dean's shirt was halfway over his head when he turned around, and couldn't see him, to turn his back and start towards the washroom, hiding his morning erection from his brother.

He normally wouldn't have bothered hiding it – dudes got hard, it had been happening to Sam for the past couple of years, sometimes at some pretty embarrassing moments. It happened to Dean too, and neither of them had cared much if the other noticed before – and he was filled with a sick, uncomfortable feeling that it was suddenly different.

Sure, since he'd noticed his changing feelings, his changing desires, where Dean was concerned, he'd been a little more closed-off, keeping himself more covered than he used to. His body was changing, and it was awkward, and he was too skinny and all legs, and he was worried that Dean wouldn't think it was good enough. But now he just wanted to cover himself up in a parka, so Dean would never be able to look at him again, never be reminded of what a complete pervert Sam was.

"Hey, watch it little brother," Dean joke-warned through the fabric of his t-shirt as he pulled it down over his head, and Sam snuck a glance back just in time to see him smooth the grey cotton down over his stomach, golden skin over hard muscle disappearing quickly, and thank God for that. "Here I was, gonna buy you pancakes."

"Why?" Sam asked suspiciously, frowning at Dean's silly grin. Breakfast was usually cold cereal, and if they were lucky, and motel room had a fridge, milk. Maybe some fruit, an apple or an orange, if Sam had remembered to pocket one from wherever they'd got their supper the night before. Pancakes were only usually on the menu if they'd been on the road and had to stop somewhere, or after an all-night hunt. Like a reward.

"Jeez, who pissed in your cornflakes? I can't do somethin' nice?"

Sam didn't say anything, just raised a questioning eyebrow and waited for Dean to answer him.

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Dad wants you in the library today. Somethin' about missing persons, and a pattern over the last sixty-four years. Left an envelope with the details on the table. Thought we'd stop for some food before I drop you off."

Sam's eyes moved to the table by the window briefly, checking out the large brown envelope, and then back to Dean. "But I thought Dad already had the Chimera's trail," he said, not mumbling, not exactly, and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door almost all the way before he rinsed his mouth out with a handful of cold water from the tap, and took a piss.

It wasn't like he was upset about having to do the research for his dad, hell he wanted to do research for him more often, wanted to be included, and counted on to do more than just 'come straight home after school, and do what your big brother tells you', but Dad usually counted on Dean for stuff like that.

Dad had said that he would take Sam hunting when he turned 16, then he'd be old enough, and for now it was just workouts and target practice, but Sam didn't really care if he ever got to go hunting at all. Sure, it might be nice to be included in Dad and Dean's little club, but honestly, it just really wasn't something he was interested in.

He'd rather just go to school, make some friends, get a part-time job at hardware store. But research he could do. Research he _liked_ to do, whenever Dad gave him the chance. Still, he might have had some plans of his own on a Saturday, and it would have been nice if Dad had asked him first, before just passing the order through Dean.

He showered quickly, working the cheap soap perfunctorily over his body, barely skimming his still mostly hard dick in the process. He wasn't in the mood to do anything about it just now, and as he cleaned himself he ignored it, willed it away, like he did most mornings. He was dressed and ready to go within ten minutes of getting out of bed.

Once they got to the diner down the road, halfway between their motel and the library, Sam ordered pancakes and orange juice, and looked away, pretending to find the condiment tray incredibly interesting, while Dean flirted shamelessly with the pretty waitress. He scored them each a free slice of pie, even though it was barely half past 8 in the morning, and they weren't even supposed to be serving pie until lunch time, and he scored her phone number, waggling his eyebrows at Sam and waving around the napkin with the hastily scrawled digits on it like an idiot after she'd left to put their order in.

"You want this one, Sammy?" Dean offered, sounding that completely annoying, and not at all sexy, combination of cocky and amused. "She's cute, but I already got almost more than I can handle in this town."

Sam snorted out his distaste and shook his head. "Classy, Dean."

But honestly, Dean's being such a pig didn't bother him this morning like it normally would have. Well, it still did a little, because yeah, seeing Dean looking at someone the way that he'd been looking at the waitress, undisguised lust even though he didn't plan on doing anything about it, made Sam's teeth itch.

But today, it was kind of welcome. It meant that things were normal. Or it meant that Dean was pretending they were. He hadn't said anything about Sam kissing him the night before, or Dean preferring to sleep his 6 foot frame on a cramped little loveseat to sleeping next to him, because he was probably afraid that Sam would try to molest him in his sleep or something.

He wasn't calling Sam a freak, or making him feel guilty, or God forbid trying to have some sort of heart to heart about how they were brothers, and it was wrong for Sam to think the kinds of things he was thinking. He wasn't avoiding him, or making things awkward, or going out of his way to be nice, and try to spare Sam's feelings.

Which on the one hand was kind of dickish of him, but mostly it just made Sam feel… okay. Like maybe he hadn't completely and totally fucked things up with Dean and made a giant fool of himself. Dean was just acting normal, like they were just brothers, like always, acting like Sam hadn't tried to stick his tongue down his throat. Good.

It was good.

So why did Sam feel almost disappointed?

"Hey, it's not my fault the chicks love me," Dean told him, folding up the napkin and putting it in his pocket, and Sam fought not to say something stupid and petty about it.

"Whatever," he said, and changed the subject. "So, how come Dad wants _me_ on this?" he asked, putting his hand on the envelope that Dean had tossed carelessly on the table when they'd sat down. "And why aren't you helping him on this hunt, anyway? You haven't gone out once with him so far, and I haven't even heard you complain about it."

Usually, Dean wanted to tag along with their father on every hunt. He'd wanted to even when he was in school, but Dad hadn't usually let him. A few times, important times, when Dad had needed the back-up, and Sam was staying with someone they trusted, and a _very_ few times, when they'd pretty much locked Sam up in a motel room, and they'd tried to get back as quickly as they could.

But now that Dean was finished school he wanted to go with Dad more often, wanted to be involved, wanted to know everything their father knew, to be just as good a hunter, perfect little soldier, and make him proud. He didn't get to go as often as Sam knew he wanted to, and he knew it was because of him, because Sam was still too young, and needed to be taken care of.

He wondered what it would be like next year, the year after, when he turned 16 and Dad took them both with him. Wondered if he'd like it as much as Dean seemed to.

"He's got this one," Dean said, pausing and turning his head when the waitress showed up with their food, thanking her in a way that sounded dirty, and shooting her a wink. Sam picked up the maple syrup, dousing his pancakes in it, and dean upended the bottle of ketchup, pouring a healthy dose (or unhealthy, really since it was mostly sugar) onto his scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.

Sam picked up his fork and carefully cut a piece of a pancake away, putting it in his mouth, while Dean loaded up his own fork with eggs, taking three loud, disgusting mouthfuls before talking again, around the food.

"Nothin' to it." Dean's words came out garbled and wet, an as soon as he managed to swallow the eggs he picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers, and leaned over the table, dunking it in the maple syrup on Sam's plate before stuffing it in his mouth, and kept on talking.

"Besides," he said, using his tongue to dig a bit of food out from besides his gums, and smiled at Sam. "Gives me a chance to earn a little honest cash for a change, and hang out with my little brother."

Sam's face soured slightly, and he took a sip of his orange juice to wash down his food before speaking. You know, the way a polite human would do, instead of showing their dining partner a mouthful of half-chewed up breakfast, some of it dripping down their chin. It was times like this when it was pretty damn easy to put a lock on his bizarre Dean-craving.

"I'm 15 Dean," he told him, trying to sound reasonable, instead of petulant. He'd had this conversation before, both with Dean and their dad, but it didn't ever seem to earn him any more freedom or responsibility. Didn't make him look any older or mature or capable in Dean's eyes. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Never said you did," Dean simply said, around some potatoes, and used his free fork to snag a piece of pancake from Sam. Sam didn't entirely believe him, but he decided it wasn't worth fighting over. He was self-aware enough to know that he'd been extra sensitive as far as anything Dean-related was concerned lately

"So what," Sam asked, getting them back on the topic of research, fingering the envelope on the table. "Did he lose the trail? Did the Chimera move? Change its pattern?"

"Nah. Like I said, Dad's got this one. No problems. The info's not for him. Friend of his has been trackin' somethin' all the way from Illinois, but they lost it." Dean paused long enough to shovel some more food into his mouth, using a slice of crispy bacon to scoop up some egg. "Thinks it might be a Mud Monster, and since they have regular hunting patterns-"

"8 kills at a time, every 8 years, along the same route," Sam interrupted, and he ducked his head, feeling a slight blush spread across his cheeks when Dean grinned proudly at him. Dad wouldn't let him go hunting yet, but he sure as hell made him study the shit. He needed to be prepared, when he started. It was like the Boy Scouts from hell.

"That's my little geek," Dean smiled. "Anyway, Dad wants to you check for any reports of anything like that around here, going back every 8 years. Might give him a clue if it's comin' this way."

"Who's this friend of his?" Sam asked, and grabbed the envelope, putting it down, unopened, on the bench seat next to him. He could read the details after Dean dropped him off.

Dean slurped at his coffee and shrugged. "He didn't say, I didn't ask." And for Dean, that was the end of the conversation. Dean never asked. Just did whatever Dad told them to, and never complained. Sam knew he was supposed to do the same, but it was so much harder for him than it was for Dean.

Sam had a few more bites of his pancakes and Dean finished off the rest of his meal, and before his older brother could even rest his fork down on his empty plate, their waitress appeared with two slices of apple pie, her fingers drifting briefly over Dean's arm before she left the table again.

Dean raised his eyebrows in a pleased and excited way at Sam, and dug straight in, perfectly happy not to talk, not when there was pie.

Sam hid his smile in another bite of his own food, and didn't complain when Dean ate his slice of pie as well, both of them eating in a comfortable silence for the next few minutes.

When they were finished eating, Dean drove Sam to the library, wishing him 'happy hunting', and before Sam got out of the car he asked Dean if he'd be back for supper.

"So are you gonna bring something with you from the gas station?" Sam wondered out loud. "Or do you want me to stop by the store after I'm done here?"

"I, uh…" Dean started, turning his head away from Sam and looking out the front window of the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the faint beat of Bachman Turner Overdrive playing on the stereo. He cleared his throat and looked back at Sam, forcing a smile. "Sorry Sammy. I gotta work late tonight."

Sam didn't say anything as Dean reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet, taking out a five dollar bill and passing it to Sam. "Pick yourself up somethin' on your way home," Dean ordered. "And lock the door 'til I get back."

"How late?" Sam asked, putting his hand on the car door handle, ready to open it up and get out. Dean was being shifty, and Sam knew him well enough to be able to tell when he was lying about something.

Lying. To _him_.

Sam wasn't stupid. Dean probably had a date, probably with that Molly girl from the garage, and he was trying to spare Sam's feelings by lying to him about it. Well fuck that. Sam wasn't a baby. He could handle it if Dean wanted to out and get laid, leave Sam home all alone, doing all the work. Jerk.

"Don't know," Dean answered. "Got a few cars piled up, so depends on how long it takes me to finish 'em." Yeah, that was definitely a lie. Sam had been there yesterday, had only seen the one car, the one that Dean had already finished with, and unless he got a call before Sam had woken up that morning, letting him know that there had been a sudden surge in breakdowns over night, Dean was full of shit.

"Whatever," Sam said, turning away and stepping out of the car, making sure he had the notes from his dad. "Have fun."

"Hey Sammy!" Dean called through the open window, after he'd slammed the door and taken a couple of steps toward the library.

"Yeah?" He was trying not to sound pissed off, or hurt, or… weird.

"Just… call me if you need anything okay? Anything."

"Yeah," he answered, and went inside to get to work.

***

And that was a week ago.

Dean had been dating Molly. Sam knew that because on Monday, on his way home from school, he'd stopped by the garage to see Dean again, and he'd seen the two of them, leaning against the wall around the side of the main building, next to the public washrooms, kissing and laughing. He'd kept walking, never letting on to Dean that he'd seen what he had.

And besides Sam's silent jealousy, and irritation that Dean was sneaking around with some girl, instead of telling him about it, like he usually did, things were good. Dad hunted and Dean was a smartass and Sam argued and sulked. A completely normal week in the world of Winchester.

And as much as Sam tried to push down his crazy raging hormones, tried to pretend that he wasn't attracted to his big brother, and it didn't bother him when Dean was out with a girl, as much as he tried to convince himself that those feelings were only because he was lonely, and desperate, and he didn't have anyone besides Dean, he was unsuccessful.

He itched. He literally itched when he was near Dean, to touch him, to talk to him, to be with him. Of course it was messed up, and it was wrong, God, so wrong, he _knew_ that, and yet he couldn't help it. Dean was older, cooler, more experienced. Knew things Sam didn't, could show him things, teach him things.

Show him what it was like, sex. Make him feel it, make him understand what it was like to be with someone like that. And make it good, Sam had no doubts about that, and he turned Sam on.

It was getting harder and harder to keep his hands off Dean, and it was only the thought of the spectacular failure that was his last attempt to let Dean know what he was going through that had kept him in line this far.

Sam needed contact, needed affection, needed someone, needed sex. Maybe not full on sex, because he wasn't sure if he was ready for that yet, but at least _something_, something to help him not feel so closed-off, like such a freak and a loner and loser.

And it wasn't like Sam could just go out and satisfy these new urges with someone else. Well, he could, sure, it wasn't like he was physically incapable. He _could_ slut around like his older brother did, screw random people without a care, but that wasn't Sam. For Sam, sex had to mean something, had to be with someone that mattered, someone he loved.

And he loved Dean. And he knew Dean loved him, and yeah, Sam knew it wasn't right, but what other option did he have? Either be with Dean, or compromise his morals and use someone, go insane from lack of any kind of basic human contact. It could happen. He knew that, because he'd read studies. It didn't seem like much of a choice when he put it like that.

And so, the very next Saturday night, when Sam had put on his best poker face, and asked Dean if he was 'working' that night, and Dean slung an arm around him and said 'nope' and asked Sam if he wanted to order a pizza and watch a dirty movie, Sam decided to try again.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 4 – Sam/Dean. A brother's night in turns awkward when Sam wants to talk about stuff. And then wants to do more than talk.

***

Their dad was out hunting. He'd been gone for a few days, and probably wouldn't be back for a few more, still chasing that same damn Chimera. It was taking longer than normal this time, but you just never knew what any particular hunt was going to throw at you, or when you'd finally get the kill.

Dean had the night off at the garage, and last night Molly had caught him with his tongue down Tracy's throat behind Boomer's Bar, and now he wasn't seeing either of them anymore, so he'd asked Sam to hang out. He probably would have anyway, because Sam, apart from being a total geek, was a pretty decent little brother.

He was also socially retarded, and Dean really didn't think he was doing the kid any favours by being a crutch for him. If he didn't have Dean to keep him company, he might actually have to make a friend or two of his own. Maybe get laid sometime this century.

Dean would have to make a point of encouraging that, but for tonight, it was just the two of them.

Sam had said yes to Dean's offer of pizza, but no to the dirty movie, and Dean was actually kind of grateful for that. He'd been joking, anyway. It wasn't that he didn't like porn, or that he didn't think it was about time Sam started to watch some. It was just that with everything going on between them, Sam's fucked up, misplaced feelings, and Dean's overcompensating for the awkwardness by trying to be extra normal, he didn't really think their relationship could take something like a night alone in a motel room, watching people fuck.

And now they were sitting next to each other on the couch, half way through a large pepperoni pizza, and Dean two beers into a six-pack, while Sam made fun of Dean's choice of movie.

"Seriously Dean?" Sam asked, even though the movie was already twenty minutes in, and he hadn't complained when Dean had seen the movie starting as he'd been flicking through the channels, and smiled, put the remote down and grabbed a slice. "_Soylent Green_?"

"Come on," Dean said, not caring that his mouth was full, and he was giving Sam a pretty good view of some chewed up cheese and dough. "Chuck Heston is the man."

"It's _people_!" Sam shouted, quoting the movie overdramatically and raising his shaking fist in the air, laughing.

Dean shot a hand out and punched Sam in the stomach. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to wind him, and his laughter cut off as he gasped in a breath.

"Oh, sorry, little girl," Dean said, stuffing the last of his slice of pizza in his mouth, and taking a drink of his beer to wash it down. "Did you want to watch _Cinderella_?"

Sam rolled his eyes, and muttered, "funny," sarcastically, but Dean could see him smiling out of the corner of his eye.

"And anyway," Dean muttered, watching the television, and not Sam. "He does that fist thing in _Planet of the Apes_. In this movie it's more kind of a… a desperate reach."

Sam snorted and smacked Dean on the leg, but Dean noticed, as he reached for another slice of the pizza that was sitting on the table in front of them, that he moved a little bit closer to Dean. Their legs were almost touching now, and Dean stayed where he was, because it was possible that Sam hadn't even noticed, and wasn't just making up excuses to touch him. It put Dean on guard though, and he swore in his head as his slight buzz started to fade.

"Dude," Sam said, shaking his head. "And you make fun of _me_?"

"Fuck off," Dean said, shooting him a glare. "You have shit taste."

Sam mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like "can't argue with you there," and he blushed, bright red specks spreading out across his cheeks. And when he ducked his head to hide it from Dean, Dean saw the flush move to cover the back of his neck as well. Shit.

Dean had been trying his damndest to be normal, to act like nothing was wrong between them, and he'd been doing a fuckin' good job of it so far. But it was like everything he did, or said, could be taken another way now, and he had to watch himself so carefully. The two of them were practically tripping over the giant elephant in the room, the giant neon pink elephant, with a sign over it that said, in big flashing lights, 'Sam is a messed up little freak who wants to jump his big brother'.

God, and that wasn't even a fair thing for Dean to be thinking. Sam wasn't a freak. He really wasn't. But he _was_ messed up. It wasn't his fault, not even close, because their whole family was messed up. It was Dad's fault that Dean and Sam weren't able to form any healthy social attachments, raising them the way he had. Sam just reacted to that situation differently than Dean did. Shut himself off from everyone else, and latched on to the one person that was always there for him.

Sam slunk down just the tiniest bit on the couch, shifted, spread his legs and let his hands fall between them casually.

His knee was pressed just a little bit closer against Dean's, and Dean clenched his teeth, tightened up, and pulled away. Not enough to be noticeable, because again, he didn't even know if Sam was doing it on purpose, but whether or not he was, it was damn creepy.

He almost said something, but then Sam pushed back into the couch and took another bite of his pizza, and turned his attention back to the movie, and Dean lost his nerve. It was probably all in his head anyway, because there was no way in hell, after last week, when Sam had kissed him, that he would be trying anything now.

He was just being stupid, and Dean's behaving any differently than he normally would, was only going to make things more awkward. Dean grabbed another slice too, and they both stuffed their mouths, effectively stopping any further conversation.

It was another half hour, and the rest of the pizza later, before Sam moved even closer, thigh pressed all along Dean's, and head resting against his arm, while Dean tried his ass off not to push him away, or freak out. It wasn't like they didn't normally touch like this, they were a touchy pair, when they were tired, or hurt, or feeling particularly needy, and Dean liked it as much as Sam did. Liked to wrap his arms around him and keep him close, protect him, show him that he was loved.

In a completely acceptable, brotherly, respectable way. And yeah, he knew he was gonna need to have that talk with Sammy sooner or later, because his little crush didn't seem to be going away, but Dean was… fuck, yeah, whatever, he was scared, okay?

Scared of his baby brother, because Sam had a crush, because Sam wanted him, and… _touched_ him, and Dean didn't have the balls to tell him to flat out fuck off. Dean knew that Sam didn't really talk to people, that Dean was pretty much his only friend in the world, and he didn't want anything to happen that would take them away from each other.

Fuckin' Sam. Dean was seriously considering setting him up with someone. A lot of the girls he saw had younger sisters.

It was when Dean had finished his fourth beer and cracked open his fifth, that Sam grabbed the last one out of the cooler and popped the top, taking a long pull. Dean just looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. He'd never seen Sam drink before. He didn't think Sam had ever even _had_ a drink, and the look on his face when he'd swallowed his first sip, a shocked kind of half-disgust, told Dean he was right.

He huffed out a small laugh, and Sam scowled at him, and took another drink.

"You're so bad, Sammy," Dean teased.

"Shut up."

"No, seriously. You'd better not let Dad catch you drinkin'."

"Like he'd care," Sam snorted. "I could drink 'til I passed out, and as long as I didn't do it on his notes, I doubt he'd even notice."

Dean frowned at Sam's tone. It was petulant, like it usually was, because Sam was fifteen, and that's what fifteen year olds sounded like, but there was uncertainty and hurt there as well. God, Dean could kill their father for not letting Sam know how much he meant to him.

"Hey, you know that's not true."

"Whatever."

"Sam," Dean said, but Sam seemed to suddenly be pretty absorbed in the movie. "Sammy, come on," he tried again, and slung an arm over his shoulders, pulling his brother against him. "You know Dad cares. He loves you. More than anything." More than anything except hunting. What John really cared about most was revenge.

And Dean wanted to be just like him. Fuck, he made himself sick sometimes. It was a damn good thing he didn't think he'd ever get his wish. He liked hunting, he really did, but for him, it wasn't really about revenge. He wanted to kill the demon that killed his mother, of course he fuckin' did, but it was about more than that. The point was helping people, stopping the son of a bitch from taking away anyone else's life, anyone else's mother, preventing other kids from growing up like him.

The truth was, he was mostly over it, this whole transient lifestyle. Sure, he'd gotten off on living like this when he was a kid, when he was growing up, but he was 19 now, a man, and he was starting to want something more. All the families they saved, happy husbands and wives and children, they were starting to get to him. Oh, he didn't want that for himself, not just yet anyway, but it was something to look forward to. Or it would have been, if this life he was living had any end in sight.

But instead of hope for something more, a light at the end of the tunnel, he had hunting, and he had Sammy. Taking care of Sammy. That had been the most important thing in his life, for as long as he could remember. _Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now Dean, go! _That was all he was, all he'd ever been.

He hadn't ever thought seriously about getting out of this life. It just wasn't an option, because if he did, who would take care of his brother? It was his job, he was good at it, he'd accepted it, and he'd do it until Sam didn't need him anymore. No matter what it cost him.

He puffed out a heavy breath, and tried to think about something else.

"Oh, I love this part," Dean said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, but he'd had enough heart to heart to get him through the next week, at least. He didn't move his arm from Sam's shoulders, and after a minute he felt him relax, take another couple of drinks, and even laugh a little at the movie.

Sam drank the rest of his beer pretty quickly, and Dean almost told him to slow down, because sure, it was just one beer, but Sam was little, and it was his first, and he was probably getting a little buzzed.

"You can't really tell me that you don't love that movie," Dean said when credits rolled. Sam snickered, and Dean moved to get up, planning on throwing the pizza box out, and grabbing the TV Guide to see if anything else was on, but as soon as he took his arm back from where it had been resting, on the couch behind Sam, Sam put a hand on his leg, stopping him.

"Wait…" he started, and Dean sat back, putting a little bit more space between them so that he could turn to face Sam, looking at him expectantly. "Dean, can we… talk?"

"About what?" Dean asked, glancing back at the television. He was pretty sure he didn't want to talk about whatever Sam wanted to talk about, because he was being especially needy and moody lately, and Dean loved him, but dealing with a reclusive teenager with severe family issues and low self-esteem, was starting to become a pain in the ass.

Fuckin' John. This was supposed to be his job.

Sam sighed and looked down, shook his head slightly, and Dean thought he was going to let it go, say 'forget it' or something, and they could just put it off a little bit longer. No such luck.

"You know what about, Dean."

Then it was Dean's turn to sigh. He pushed back even further, moving his leg out of Sam's reach, and tried to get his thoughts straight. He wasn't really ready to have this talk now, but… fuck. Sam needed it, and he'd always had a hard time not giving Sammy whatever he needed. A hard time, but not an impossible time. No, he really, really didn't want to do this. He just wanted them to forget about it, and go back to how things used to be. "Sam…"

"Dean," Sam cut him off, and paused to take another drink of his beer, only to realise that it was empty, and after he'd made a half-irritated, half-confused face, he put the empty can down on the table. "I kissed you."

Fuck. Trust Sam to cut the bullshit and get straight to the point. Little bastard had some balls, Dean had to give him that. Kid was way braver than he was when it came to anything emotional. "Sam, come on, just…"

"Dean, please. Just… talk to me."

Dean opened him mouth to agree, to say 'okay' and let Sam say what he needed to, but then he changed his mind. They didn't need to talk about this now. "What are we, girls?" he said instead. "It's done. There's nothing to talk about."

Sam scowled, but closed his mouth, and Dean was glad that he didn't try to say anything else. Or, he was glad for about four seconds anyway, until Sam moved, so fast it caught Dean off guard, and spun around, moving over to Dean's side of the couch, climbing half on top of him, and pressed their lips together.

Dean froze at first, didn't react, just like the last time, as his mind just ground to a halt. Unlike the last time though, his brain kicked in before Sam managed to push his tongue between his lips, and his hands came up, gripping Sam's shoulders and pushing him back, maybe with a bit too much force.

"Sam, _no_," he said, the 'no' part coming out strained, almost angry. He _was_ angry. As much as he didn't want to blame Sam for all this, it was unfair to _him_, having to deal with this, and Sam not taking the fucking hint.

Sam snorted, pulling a 'what the hell?' kind of face, and pushed Dean's hands away from his shoulders roughly, even rougher than Dean had been, and sunk back into the couch, folding his arms over his chest.

"Dude, are you like, six?" Dean asked, attacking, because that's what he did when he was feeling defensive. "Don't pout, it makes you look like a baby."

"I'm not pouting, Dean," Sam snarled, but he was still pouting, and Dean almost laughed. "I just… Am I really that disgusting?"

Oh, fuck, now he was going for the guilt. It took all the strength Dean had not to get up and walk out right then, not to just go, and forget about this, and ignore Sam and all his issues, go out and get drunk. Drunker. Get laid, and come home after Sam was asleep, and wake up tomorrow when they could pretend everything was normal.

"Sammy, that's not what this is about. You know that," Dean told him. "We just… we _can't_." Yeah, that was really convincing. Well thought out, and eloquently put. Fuck, he was such an idiot sometimes. He'd known he was going to fuck this up, but he'd been hoping it would be later. A lot later.

Yeah, they couldn't, of course they fuckin' couldn't, but also, Dean didn't want to. Sam was his fucking _brother_, and fifteen years old, and Dean had honestly never even thought about Sam the way that Sam had obviously been thinking about him for a while now.

"Why not?" Sam asked, turning his face up to Dean, looking honestly so lost and so curious, and Dean just about crumpled. _Why not_? Was he fucking kidding? Dean's wide eyes and slightly open mouth must have given away his shock, because Sam started talking again, before Dean had a chance to come up with something suitable to say to that.

"I mean… I see you with girls all the time," Sam said, sounding actually pretty reasonable, like he'd thought this out, had fucking _practiced_ or something, knew exactly what he wanted to say, and that only made Dean nervous. Sam was a smart kid, and if he got something in his head, something that he thought made sense, and he had reasons, and research and probably pie charts, if only mental ones, to go along with whatever idea he had, he could be damn convincing, and wasn't likely to be talked out of it.

"Girls you don't even _like_," Sam continued, and Dean felt his chest clench, knowing where this was going. Shit, Sam knew how to play dirty. Asshole. "Girls whose names you don't even remember. If you ever knew them in the first place."

"Hey!" Dean protested, feeling like he needed to speak up then. He wasn't really the big slut that Sam apparently thought he was. Yeah, okay, so got around, but he honestly liked each and every one of them, and he never lied to them, never pretended that what they had was anything more than it was. Temporary and fleeting, sure, but fun, nice. Something to keep him warm when it all got to be too much, and the nights were cold and lonely. "I've always known their names."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, clearly not believing him. "What about that girl back in Austin? The one with the really long hair, out in the parking lot behind your car? And when I came out, you guys pretended like she'd lost her contact on the ground, and that's what she was doing on her knees, and you couldn't even tell me what her name was."

Dean smiled. He couldn't help it. That had been a damn good night. Lindsey, or Linda, or whatever her name was, had been particularly enthusiastic, Dean had had good dreams for a month after that.

"Right," he said around a grin, nodding absently, as if he was somewhere else. "Laura."

"Lana!" Sam almost shouted. "Shit, Dean, even _I_ remember her name."

"Jesus, Sam, lighten up."

Sam breathed out hard through his nose, and got quiet for several seconds. "My point," he said, eventually, "Is that you can do it was all these girls, and you're obviously not too choosey, and… and you won't with me."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, trying for casual, and kicking his legs out in front of him, putting one up on the table. "You're not a girl, Sammy, contrary to popular opinion."

Sam scowled, again, and Dean was starting to think his face was going to actually freeze like that, like people told you it would when you were six, and sticking your tongue out at girls. "I've seen you with guys, too, Dean," he said, almost too quiet, but Dean heard it.

And he didn't really know how to respond to that. He had been with a few guys, that was true, but he didn't think Sam knew about it. Didn't think _anyone_ knew about it. It wasn't really his preference, but it was pretty nice once in a while, if the guy was right. But shit, someone knowing about it just made it all more real, and not really something he wanted to chat with his baby brother about.

"How…?"

"Oh please, Dean," Sam said, as if it should have been obvious. Maybe it was, and Dean just wasn't being as careful as he should be. Or more probably, Sam was just paying way too much attention. "You think you're so slick, do such a good job at hiding it? I notice. Just a few weeks ago I saw you."

Sam looked down again then, at his hands in his lap, and the rest of his words came out mumbled. "Came home from school. You didn't know I was home yet, didn't hear me I guess, over all the grunting and moaning, and '_Oh, Dean, harder_'. But you were in the bedroom, and you hadn't even bothered to close the door all the way, and…"

Oh. Yeah. Dean remembered that time. The guy had been a couple of years younger than him, thinner, with droopy eyes and dark, shaggy hair. Sweet, almost innocent looking, if you didn't count the cock in his ass or the way he was cursing and begging Dean for more. A really cute 17 year old, that would grow up one day to be one hell of a hot man, and he'd begged for Dean's cock even as Dean had pounded into him, draped over his smaller form.

Oh, yeah, that had been nice.

Still, just because he fucked guys, didn't mean he wanted to fuck his brother, and if Sam saw some sort of connection there that he didn't, then the guy was clearly high, or something. "Sam…" he said, exasperated, and maybe a little embarrassed. He might like a bit of dick once in a while, but he didn't want Sam to think he was a fag.

"No, Dean," Sam snapped, and dude, but this emo teenage bit was getting old. "Don't 'Sam' me."

And then he got quiet for a minute, and Dean thought again about breaking into his dad's bottle of Jim Bean, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to get through the rest of this conversation without getting stinkin' drunk first.

"Just…" Sam breathed out after a while. "You don't really seem too particular about where you shove your cock…"

"Fuck, Sammy, could you be more crude?" Yeah, he knew Sam was a little bent out of shape about the rejection, but fuck. That was harsh, and the way Sam had said it, like he was looking down his nose at Dean, for daring to make any kind of connection with another living soul… Yeah, he could just eat Dean's ass.

"Well you don't!" Sam insisted, turning toward Dean, looking straight at him. "Crap, Dean I think you got hard for your piece of pie the other night, and if I hadn't been around, you would have at least gotten to third base with it. God, am I the only thing you won't touch?"

"Sam, that's not fair." Why the hell did he have to be so… _Sam_ about this?

"No, I'm serious," Sam said. "You'll sleep with people, practically anyone that even looks at you, and I've seen you, Dean, heard you. You tell them how great they are, how pretty they are, and you kiss them and hold them, and I know, _I know_, you don't even care that you'll never see them again, but… But me. Me you can't even…"

Dean tried for a smirk, but it came out more like a wince, because hell, Sam was like, the King of Laying on the Guilt tonight. "You're great, Sammy," he told him, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. "And you're pretty," he added through a twisted smile. "But dude, that's all your gettin' from me."

"Shut up Dean," Sam said, his frown not letting up any. "I'm serious."

"Well, then you'd better seriously knock this the fuck off, Sammy. You're my brother. This is crazy."

"The way I feel, Dean… it's real. Do you not care that I'm lonely? That I'm hurting?" Sam asked, and son of a bitch, now he was going for pity, on top of guilt. It wasn't a secret that pity would work with Dean, especially after the movie the other week. Not that he'd taken Sam out because of pity. No. He'd made a point of saying it wasn't that. But it was, a little. Dean felt bad about Sam being miserable, and Sam got what he wanted.

That was always how things had worked, and Sam knew how to use that. He was one manipulative little bastard.

"Fuck off Sam," Dean said, and he knew he sounded harsh, but Sam needed to take the hint, and Dean was getting really pissed off. "I get that you're a little horndog all of a sudden, but seriously, this isn't right. Dude, go find someone else. Bang one of your friends or something."

Sam snorted, and shook his head, and Dean wanted to crawl into a hole, because Sam, four years younger and in lust with his older brother, somehow managed to make Dean feel like a big freakin' retard.

"I don't _have_ any friends, Dean," Sam said, like it was some kind of accusation, like it was Dean's fault. "And this… this thing… it isn't sudden."

Dean closed his eyes briefly and turned his head away. Yeah, he knew it wasn't sudden, but up until now, Sam had been too scared, too inexperienced to try anything.

"And I _can't_ find anyone else. You and Dad make sure of that."

"Dude, not fucking fair, man."

Sam let out a pained, frustrated sigh, and Dean fought the urge to reach out and pull Sam close. He hated to see Sam hurting this much. Or at all. And he wasn't making any secret about the fact that he was hurting, which only made Dean hurt.

"Dean, I… I want this," Sam said, and moved just a little bit closer to Dean on the couch, not quite touching him, but Dean could almost feel him vibrating with the want to do just that. "I want… you."

"Sammy," Dean sighed, forehead tightening in sympathy. "You're fifteen. You're a kid."

"Yeah, but I'm not an idiot."

"No," Dean agreed, "You're not. But you're… confused. You're just… fuck, Sammy, I don't even know! You're just mixing up what you feel, because you haven't been able to explore what you're going through with someone appropriate."

"What I'm going through?" Sam asked, sounding kind of incredulous, and at the same time, adorably naïve.

"You know…" Dean hedged. "Getting older, and… feelings, and… changes and stuff."

"Oh please, Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "I'm kinda used to the 'changes'. I had my first hard-on _years_ ago. And it wasn't over you."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, so he just raised his eyebrows. It was kind of cute that Sam thought he had to point that out.

"Okay, fine, so it was," Sam admitted. "But the point is, I'm not twelve. I know what I want, Dean, and I want you."

"No, Sam, you don't."

"And you owe me," Sam continued, as if Dean hadn't spoken.

"I _what_?"

"Owe me, Dean. You know I hate living like this, out of crappy motels, moving all the time. You know I can't make any friends, you _know_ you're all I have. And if you would ever say something to dad about it, tell him this isn't good for me, and ask him to just stay put for a while, so I can have a life, he'd listen. But you don't. You don't care, and I'm miserable, and it's your fault."

Dean hadn't wanted to argue with Sam when they'd started talking about this, he really hadn't. When Sam forced the conversation, he was hoping he could make it as quick and painless as possible, tell Sam it just wasn't going to happen, and Sam would agree, and things could stop being so damn weird between them.

But the more Sam talked, the more pissed off Dean was getting. He was trying to stay calm, to not say anything that he knew he'd regret, trying to be understanding, because Sam was obviously going through something. But fuck, it wasn't like Dean's life had been a picnic. He'd practically lived for Sam, and he resented being accused of doing anything to purposefully hurt him.

"Okay, first," he said, voice strained from trying not to shout. "You know damn well that dad would _never_ listen to me if I suggested settling down somewhere. We can't, Sam. We're hunters. We move around. It's what we do. It's good work, and it's important. I grew up just like you, Sam. Only I didn't get to throw fits and bitch about not getting laid..."

"No, cause you get laid all the damn time," Sam mumbled under his breath.

"…I didn't get to feel sorry for myself, because I didn't have the fuckin' time. I was too busy trying to be a good son for Dad, to make things easier on him, and I was too busy taking care of your ungrateful ass. Almost everything in my god damn life is about you. I'm here because of you. I can't leave, because of you. Because you mean everything to me, Sammy, and you need someone, and I love Dad, I really do, but he's shit at doing anything apart from keeping us alive."

Neither of them said anything for a little while after that. It was probably only about thirty seconds, but it seemed a lot longer than that, the silence heavy and uncomfortable. Dean was an idiot. It was so unfair of him to lay all that on his brother. Nothing in his life was Sam's fault, and he'd pretty much made it sound like everything was. Yeah, he should have just left the motel as soon as Sam kissed him.

And then Sam looked at him, and fuck, Dean thought the kid was going to cry. "I'm really that much of a burden?" he asked, all small and pathetic, and Dean's heart broke. "Well I'm a big boy now, Dean, and if taking care of me is ruining your life, you really don't need to anymore. Don't need to see me at all."

"That's gonna be kind of hard, living three to a room like this," Dean said, smiling slightly. He really didn't want to fight like this. It was stupid anyway. They were both saying things they shouldn't be, things were coming out wrong, and it sucked. And Sam was acting like a… well, like a kid.

Dean sighed when Sam didn't even crack a smile, and slung his arm around him again, pulling him into a half-hug. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he said. "I didn't mean that shit. I love takin' care of you. Love hangin' out with you." Sam relaxed a little against Dean while Dean moved his hand to cup Sam's bicep, rubbing gently over his arm, and after a few moments Sam tilted his head, resting it on Dean's shoulder.

"You can be a real asshole sometimes," Sam grumbled, but his voice was lighter now. Not quite teasing, but almost.

"Yeah, and you can be a real whiny little bitch sometimes," Dean shot back, and Sam snorted out a laugh.

The credits on screen had finished rolling, and lead into some infomercial about a food processor, and Dean and Sam watched about ten minutes of it in silence, still pressed together on the couch.

Dean wasn't sure if this little discussion they'd had tonight had done any good, if Sam had taken the hint that the two of them, together, was just crazy, and not ever going to happen. Probably not, because he'd been pretty damn insistent that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he really did want Dean.

It was nuts, of course, and Sam would see that too, if he had any perspective. Until Sam got over this, Dean was just going to have to put some distance between them, physically and emotionally. If Sam didn't have Dean to keep him company all the time, he might be forced to actually talk to someone else.

And he didn't care what his dad said, he was going to insist on making sure he and Sam had separate beds, every single night, until things went back to normal.

It didn't go as smoothly as Dean had hoped.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 5 – Sam/Dean, Sam/OMC. Sam makes a friend, and tries to forget about Dean for a while. It's probably a wasted effort, but at least he'll have some fun.

***

It was about a month after they'd had their little 'brother's night in' together, and Sam had confessed his feelings for Dean in words instead of just actions, and had been shot down, again, that Sam had his first assisted orgasm.

Oh, he'd jerked off plenty, in the shower in the morning, or under the covers in the middle of the night, with Dad gone and Dean asleep in the other bed. Once or twice, when the need was so bad – because Dean had smiled at him or touched him, or taken his shirt off in front of him – in the bed next to Dean, while Dad scribbled notes at the table and the television droned softly, Sam lying flat on his stomach, and trying not to move his hips too much, trying to keep quiet, and blushing a deep, deep red, fear of being caught only heightening his arousal.

He wasn't kidding himself that Dean hadn't noticed it. Dean would sometimes give him a look, a smirk, after he knew that Sam was finished, like he'd known exactly what Sam had been doing, and really didn't mind that he was doing it less than a foot away from him. Hell, Dean used to jerk off practically in front of Sam, if the mood struck.

Well, okay, it wasn't quite like that, but when they were alone in the room, he'd never bothered waiting for Sam to fall sleep before taking care of business under his blanket, and when Dad was around and he did it in the washroom, he never tried to pretend he was doing anything other than exactly what he was doing. Their family didn't exactly have normal boundaries. They couldn't really afford to.

So, this wasn't even close to the first time Sam had gotten off, but this was the first time someone else had done it for him, touched him like this, hand sliding up and down over his hard cock, dipping into Sam's open jeans, fingers tickling his balls. And he'd honestly, up until a month ago, thought that first someone would be Dean. Shit, he'd been such an idiot.

Sam had been surprised when John had mentioned – out of nowhere, and between back to back lectures on gun safety and the importance of covering your tracks, using personal anecdotes, horror stories about friends that were now former, making Sam honestly feel a little queasy with the graphicness of his detail – that they were staying put for a while.

It was January, Dean's 20th birthday coming up soon, and they'd moved on from Massachusetts, hit a couple more towns, a couple easy cases, where they didn't even bother putting Sam in a school, because they knew they wouldn't be there long enough. Now they were in Michigan. Ann Arbor. And when they'd pulled up into the driveway of a shoebox-sized house, after midnight on a Thursday, and John had ordered Dean and Sam inside, they'd followed him without a word, sitting at the wobbly kitchen table with him, listening to him talk, while he and Dean cleaned their guns.

John had told them they would be staying there, putting Sam in the school down the road, and they wouldn't be leaving until summer. No mention was made of why they were suddenly trying out domesticity, and Sam didn't ask, didn't want to rock the boat. He was just glad he'd be able to finish out a proper school year, would be able to spend six blessed months not scurrying to catch up, might actually be able to try for something of a social life.

He had a feeling Dean might have had something to do with their dad's decision, but he wasn't about to ask him, either. Things between him and Dean hadn't exactly been great lately.

They'd hardly spoken in weeks, and when they did it was awkward, strained, not bothering with much beyond 'pass the ketchup' or 'dude, you're sitting on the remote'. Dean was avoiding him, and Sam couldn't really blame him, because he knew he'd put his older brother in one hell of an awkward situation.

He knew Dean didn't hate him, but honestly, it might have been easier if he did, because then Sam would have been able to give up hope, to stop thinking about Dean. Stop thinking about touching Dean, kissing Dean, licking Dean, touching Dean some more. It was very easy to stop fantasising about someone who hated you, but if that person loved you, it was a whole hell of a lot harder.

And Dean was wrong. This desire of his, it wasn't because he was young and didn't know any better. It was because Dean was _Dean_, and Dean was always there was for Sam, the only person he had in his life that wouldn't leave him, or that Sam wouldn't leave. He needed him, wanted so badly to be with him, to give himself over, to have Dean give him _that look_, like he wanted him back, take him and let himself be taken, and keep Sam safe and happy forever.

Wanted _Dean_.

But Dean seemed to be having a pretty good time without him, going out almost every night, the nights he wasn't out hunting with Dad, coming home with tiny little bruises on his neck that Sam knew were put there by someone else's lips. Someone else's tongue touching Dean's skin and _sucking_. Coming home with swollen lips and smelling of booze and cum and perfume. Sometimes aftershave, and Sam knew Dean didn't use any, and he hated those times the most.

"Ow!" Sam heard, whispered into his ear, and Sam could hear the wince in the voice as he lost his concentration and dug his nails into the delicate flesh of Billy's dick. "Not so hard, Sam."

"Sorry," he whispered back, not having any idea why they were keeping quiet, because nobody else was home, and loosened his grip, soothing the skin with soft brushes by the pads of his fingers. Dad had been gone for a week now, and Dean had gone with him, but he'd gotten back last night, telling Sam that whatever Dad was hunting wasn't that tough, and he could handle it on his own. Of course what Sam heard was 'you're still fifteen, and we don't want you to be alone too long', which was stupid, because Dean had been a hell of a lot younger than fifteen, and looking after an even younger Sam, when John had left them on their own.

It was a painful, unsubtle reminder that Dean was better than he was. Dad's perfect little soldier.

But Dean wasn't home now either, and Sam had no idea where he was. It was four thirty in the afternoon, and Sam had gotten home from school an hour ago. With Billy.

Billy was in his creative writing class, and on Sam's first day at his new school, Billy, who'd just moved to Ann Arbor from England during the summer, had smiled at him, shared his text book, and asked Sam to eat lunch with him. Sam had, and did almost every day since then, for the past two weeks, sometimes alone, sometimes with some of Billy's friends, and two days ago, when school had let out for the day, and Sam was walking home, down the front steps of the school, down the sidewalk, around the corner, Billy called for him to stop.

***

"Hey, hold up a tick, Winchester!" Sam heard him call, the British lilt to his voice making the words sound harder and… sexier than those words probably should. Naturally Sam stopped, because Billy was someone who was rapidly becoming a friend, and even if he wasn't, it would be rude not to answer someone who'd called him.

"What's up, Billy?" Sam asked, adjusting his book bag on his shoulder, the book bag Dean had fixed for him more times than he could count, and he fucking hated Dean sometimes for being such a good brother.

"Nothin'," Billy shrugged, smiling, and when Sam furrowed his brows, about to ask what he'd called him for, Billy leaned forward and kissed him.

Sam didn't hesitate. He kissed back immediately, the feeling of someone's mouth on his, someone who wanted his mouth on his, too much to resist. He did more than just open his mouth to Billy, he pried Billy's lips open with his own, slid his tongue forward, only barely faltering, because yeah, he'd opened his mouth a little bit before during kisses, but he'd never full-on had his tongue in someone's mouth.

The only time he'd tried had been with Dean, and shit, Sam really didn't want to think about Dean right then, so he moved his tongue, swirled it around Billy's, swallowed his surprised gasp, and grabbed hold of the back of his neck with his free hand.

Billy was a little shorter than Sam, and much thinner, sharp blond hair (dyed, obviously, because nobody had that colour of hair naturally) a stark contrast to Sam's deep, warm brown, and his fingers moving up to tickle in the course hair at the top of his neck. And it was good. It was all really, really, good, better than any other kiss he'd experienced, and he pushed thoughts of Dean's stunned face out of his mind. Tried to forget the way Dean had looked, like Sam had betrayed him somehow, surrounded by forest out by the lake, after Sam had been really, really stupid that first time, and he kissed Billy harder.

It only took Billy a couple of seconds, and clearly he'd just been waiting to make sure it was okay with Sam first, to drop his own book bag onto the pavement of the sidewalk, and wrap his arms around Sam, pulling him close. Their bodies fit snug together as his hands worked over Sam's back, almost – but not quite – daring to slide them further down, over Sam's ass.

Sam felt his tongue pushed back into his mouth as Billy took over the kiss, felt a tongue sliding across his teeth and behind them, licking the roof of Sam's mouth, and meeting up again with his own tongue, teasing it roughly, as Billy rutted against him. It was awesome. But it was also kind of too much, especially for the middle of the street (granted a very minor one, that had very little automotive or pedestrian traffic) and at three o'clock in the afternoon, and it was definitely the first time Sam had felt someone shove his dick up against him, like he wanted to do so much more.

He pulled back, panting, hands on Billy's chest, not pushing, just holding him a few inches away, and Sam was actually kind of surprised when, instead of looking pissed off, or predatory, Billy only looked concerned.

"You okay, Sam?" he asked, and Sam swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, but he was a bit breathless, his voice scratchy. And what the hell? All Billy had been doing was kissing him, and he'd been ready to do a whole hell of a lot more than that with Dean last month, so he really shouldn't be freaked out by this. "Yeah, fine. Sorry. Just…"

"Too fast?" Billy asked, smirking slightly, and it was almost as annoying as Dean's smirk. He knew that look, and he felt like it could make him do anything.

"It's alright," Billy continued at Sam's blush. "We don't have to do anything you don't want." And his look was so matter of fact, like it wasn't a big deal at all that he'd practically dry humped Sam in the street, and then found out that Sam was a great big virgin, and too much of a girl to go any further. Yeah, Sam could really like him.

"Tomorrow," Sam found himself saying, before he'd actually thought it through, and damn, he was getting really bad for things like that. He hated being a teenager. It was gonna get him killed one day. Although probably not by Billy…

"…Is Thursday," Billy supplied after a beat, and Sam blushed even more, because he was clearly so out of his element that he couldn't even complete a thought.

"No, I mean… let's… let's do something. Hang out. Whatever." Yeah, this was Sam Winchester, trying to ask someone out on a date, for the very first time. And it was going about as well as he should have expected.

"Can't," Billy sad. "Sorry."

"Yeah, okay, sorry," Sam mumbled quickly, fidgeting with the strap on his book bag, a nervous habit that he was glad for, because it gave him something to do besides look stupid and pathetic. "Never mind." And he turned away, ready to slink off down the road, trying to get home as soon as possible, and maybe put some itching powder in Dean's bed, so that whenever the hell he decided to come home, he'd have a terrible night's sleep.

"Sam," Billy said, sounding much too amused, and grapping hold of Sam's arm gently, to stop him from turning. "I didn't say I don't want to. I'm just busy tomorrow." And Sam wasn't going to even bother thinking about what he was busy with, if it was someone else, because this was way too early to be worrying about things like that. And besides, not everyone tramped around like Dean, and Sam had to learn to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Sam just blinked, because he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound stupid. He didn't want to ask again for another day, because that might make him look desperate. Luckily he didn't have to. Because he totally would have.

"How 'bout Friday?" Billy asked, and Sam smiled.

***

And now it was Friday, and after a few awkward minutes of trying to figure out what they wanted to do on their first date, they'd ended up at Sam's place. Because his dad was gone, and Dean was home, yeah, that was a bit of a surprise, but that only made Sam want to bring Billy home more.

Dean should see this. See Sam's date. Know that Sam wasn't sitting home, pining for him, wanting to be with him, while Dean was out with anyone that looked good in a tight pair of jeans. He should know that Sam was having fun, without Dean. Know that someone wanted him, thought he was desirable.

Naturally, Dean hadn't been home, and Sam felt vaguely let down by that. Like he was expecting his older brother to be waiting on him, waiting to make sure he'd gotten home okay, before he ignored him, and threw him some heated up frozen pizza, or micro-waved him some Spaghetti-o's, and then left to do God knew what.

Dean was doing his best to avoid talking to him lately, but he still mother-henned him whenever he could. And that, annoyingly, made Sam love him more.

So Sam had come home with Billy, over an hour ago, to an empty house, and he'd tried not to be nervous, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Billy had been sweet, slow, kissing Sam occasionally, on the walk over, and when Sam had taken his coat, but chastely, making it clear that he wanted Sam, that he liked him, but he wasn't going to push for more, and the rest was up to Sam.

After a brief look around the house, Sam pointing out the fridge, and the bathroom, in case Billy needed either of them, they'd made their way to Sam's room. The room Sam shared with Dean, because the house was so small they were lucky it even had two bedrooms, and even luckier that the room Sam and Dean were stuck in could fit two beds. Or not so lucky, if anyone had bothered to ask Sam.

His chest still tightened at night, and his dick still twitched, when he looked at Dean, asleep in the other bed, chest rising and falling with his breaths, and Sam wanted, so fucking badly, to crawl in next to him. Even if they couldn't… whatever… they could at least be close, and Sam was going crazy with need for that.

He was glad to be staying in one place for a while, he really was, but the idea of at least six months without being able to sleep next to Dean, to pretend he was irritated when Dean would hog the bed, and wake up with his hand on Dean's back, or curled into his side, was hell. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe the distance really would help him get over this, because Dean sure as shit wasn't giving in to it.

Sam and Billy had plunked down on Sam's bed, Sam shuffling with the radio for some sort of music, not that he knew what was good to play in a situation like this, so he just left it on Dean's classic rock station, and turned back to Billy, trying not be nervous.

"Relax," Billy had told him, hand reaching out to land on Sam's thigh, not overtly sexual, mostly reassuring, but with the promise of more if Sam wanted it. "I won't bite. And we don't even have to do anything, if you don't want to. If you're nervous. We can just hang out, talk."

That actually sounded like a pretty good idea, slowing down, talking, but he was kind of worried that he'd just look stupid at this point if he didn't at least want to kiss a little. It was Billy that had suggested going back to Sam's place, instead of out somewhere, and it wasn't as if Sam hadn't known what he had in mind, and Sam had agreed, with a smile. Had pretty much made it clear that he was interested in the same thing, and he really liked Billy, or really wanted to, and he didn't want to blow this.

"No, I didn't…" Sam started, but then Billy smiled at him, that smile that he'd wanted from Dean, and leaned closer, not kissing him yet, but giving Sam the option, if he wanted it, and then, suddenly, even if it wasn't Dean, it was enough.

So Sam kissed him. It was slow at first, much slower than two days ago out on the sidewalk, because this was more serious, more intimate, with the possibility of going much further. With the possibility of things that Sam had only vaguely thought about, wanted only in the back of his mind, and was now faced with, sudden and blinding.

It didn't take long for them to work their way together, legs pressed tight against each other's, lips locked together, hands roaming, feeling down sides and over hips, dipping places where hands had never been, as far as Sam's experience.

They were sitting next to each other now, both of their pants open, thanks to some hopelessly stuttering fumbles on Sam's part, and a little calming guidance from Billy. Their hands delved down to cover body parts now freed, Billy's fingers warm and pleasant around his cock, while he worked Billy's unsurely. They pumped, and clenched and slowly squeezed, Sam trying frantically to provide pleasure, and at the same time, not just shoot his load right on the spot, because someone was actually touching his dick.

Billy had more experience than he had, Sam had known that already. Guessed it, more like. But if he hadn't, he sure as hell would have now, because his fingers were slightly more sure, his fist stammering a little bit less, and Sam didn't think he'd ever felt anything quite so good. So good, and almost terrifying, and Sam was loving every second of it. Loved it even as he tried not to picture what Dean would look like, beside him, legs spread, pants open, Sam's hand working over his prick.

He shivered, and swore under his breath, and hated Dean for a second, before Billy's fingers slid lower, over his balls, tickling just slightly, and the grip of his fist didn't let up from around Sam's prick, and _fuck_! Billy was damn good at this, must have had a lot of practice, because the way his hand worked over Sam, the way he _worked over_ Sam, it was just… well, he'd think of the words for it later, when his brain was getting enough oxygen again.

Sam moved his own hand faster, tightened his fist just a little bit, not so much as to hurt, just to stimulate, and he pumped in time with Billy, hoping that the other boy was setting the rhythm that he wanted for himself, otherwise Sam couldn't be sure he was doing it right. Sam was pretty damn sure that he had it right, a few seconds later, when Billy croaked out an almost pained sort of sound, and bucked his hips up into Sam's grasp.

He smiled, around his scrunched up sex face (and dude, he probably looked so stupid right now, nothing like Dean did when he was… yeah, okay _so_ not the time to be thinking about that) because Billy liked the way he was touching him. And _dear God_, but Billy knew how to touch him back. Honestly, it was a little shameful, because it was only a few moments, only a few strokes, a few kisses, a few presses of lips on cheek, collarbone, little hollow at the base of his neck, before Sam felt himself rocketing towards orgasm.

He was almost there, almost there, just a twist of Billy's wrist, a flick of his thumb, a small slide of his fingertips over Sam's cockhead… And then Sam looked up.

Big friggin' mistake.

Because what he saw, beyond Billy's face, his top set of teeth resting tightly over his bottom lip, eyes closed as he leaned into Sam's touch, was Dean.

His brother wasn't saying anything, wasn't telling Sam to stop, wasn't interrupting. Wasn't doing anything apart from standing in the doorway, hand on the old wood of the door, from where he'd pushed it open, staring. Sam couldn't even identify Dean's expression. Maybe shock, which would make sense, because the last thing Dean had probably been expecting was _this_. But it was mostly blank, like he was just processing what he was seeing, and deciding what to do next.

'_Sam's trading hand jobs. Hmm. Maybe I'll get a sandwich.'_

So Dean was looking at him. Actually fucking looking at him, while he had his hand on someone else's dick, and that someone had his hand on Sam's. And of course Sam froze then, his big brother watching as he exchange hand jobs with someone for the first time, and it was just a little too much for Sam, and his hand, and the rest of him, couldn't fucking move.

Billy didn't stop though. Billy didn't notice. His face was against Sam's cheek, and Dean hadn't made any kind of sound, and there would be no reason to notice him, if Sam didn't happen to be looking in his direction. But he did, and he saw him, even as Billy's lips closed over his neck, forming a circle, sucking hard, causing Sam to gasp and jerk, breathe out his name…

"Billy…"

Like it was a prayer.

His hand still didn't move on Billy's dick, even as Billy continued to jerk him, suddenly seeming even _more_ skilled than he had a few minutes ago (and no, that had nothing to do with Dean being there, _watching_), and Sam didn't think he would have been able to move to save his life. This whole thing seemed to Sam to be taking a hell of a lot longer than it actually was, because there was no way in hell his brother would actually just stand there and watch him do this, not for longer than it took to get over the shock, if that's what he was even feeling. His eyes were locked on Dean's, hard, and lazy, and it felt like Dean's hand on his dick, working him, bringing him so close to the edge.

He thought Dean's eyes might have narrowed, but that might just have been a trick of his imagination, and Sam gulped in a deep breath of air, and then another, and then Dean's eyes _sparkled_, and Sam _knew_ he wasn't imagining that.

Sam still didn't move, and Billy's hand still kept up, moving up and down on Sam's cock, and he whispered into his neck, his teeth closed over his pulse point, and he jerked harder. And Sam figured Dean had walked into the room about 3 hours ago, but really, it couldn't have been more than 3 seconds ago, and no, he wasn't counting. Or maybe he was.

And then Billy's thumb flicked over the head of his cock, spreading his pre-cum around, over the tip and down around the shaft, and Sam bucked up, choked off a cry, coiled and tense. Billy's hand kept moving, Sam jerked his hips, and kept on looking at Dean. Didn't dare look away, because if he did, Dean would be gone, and he _needed_ Dean there for this, and then… and then suddenly, out of nowhere, he was coming.

It shouldn't have been out of nowhere, because it wasn't like he hadn't experienced it before, and just before Dean showed up, he'd been almost there, but he must have been too focused on Dean to be paying that much attention. He felt the first spurt of sticky white shoot out of him, and then his body clenched, pulling in on itself, and he gasped, his eyelids lowered.

"Dean…." He whispered, barely a breath, and it could have easily been mistaken for a wordless moan, and before his eyes had the chance to close, Dean was gone, disappeared from the doorway, and it was just Sam and Billy again. "Billy," he said this time, louder, turning to face his friend, and hoped that Billy hadn't heard the slip of his tongue just before. "Ungh."

And he finished, final shots of his orgasm landing on his own lap, and Billy's hand. It felt good, _shit_ it felt good. But also… oddly empty. Not like he'd imagined his first time with another person. Like something about it (_the who_, he told himself) wasn't right. And fuck, he hated himself, because Billy was great, and Sam really liked him, and it wasn't his fault that he wasn't Dean. And Sam shouldn't want him to be.

"Sam," Billy gasped, more a breath than an actual word, over his neck and towards his ear. "Sam, please." And he bucked his hips upwards into Sam's passive hand, hoping for a little bit of something to get to where he'd just taken Sam.

Fuck, Sam was such an asshole.

Right. He needed to get Billy off. It was only polite, considering he'd just come in the guy's fist and all, imagining his own goddamn brother.

"Sorry," Sam said, and started to move his hand again, feeling stupid. Apparently he shouldn't have bothered feeling stupid, because Billy obviously hadn't lost any interest, Sam's own orgasm, and his hand just touching Billy enough to keep him close to the edge. It didn't take long, didn't take very many strokes of his hand over Billy's cock (and holy fuck, he was touching someone's cock. Odd that that revelation should suddenly strike him now) before Billy was grabbing at Sam's shirt, and his eyes were drifting shut, and he was babbling incoherently.

"Sam," Sam managed to pick out of the mumbles. "God, fuck, Sam, yes…." And then Sam's hand was covered in something warm and sticky, and Sam was very familiar with that feeling, because he'd had his own on his hands before but this was the first time that he'd had someone else's on him.

And it was awesome. It was better than his own recent orgasm, because _he'd_ done this to Billy. He'd made him come, given him that pleasure, and by the sounds of, Billy had _loved_ it. Sam really wanted to bring his hand to his mouth, to taste the fluid, but he didn't. He didn't think he and Billy were that close yet, and he didn't want to seem like too much of a freak.

Instead, he just sat there, listened to Billy breathe, and kissed him on the neck once, and waited until his breath evened out, before he pulled back a little, and reached over to the table by his bed, for the box of tissues that was there.

He managed to be polite enough to offer them to Billy first, and when his friend had taken a few with a smile of thanks, Sam yanked out a couple of handfuls, and cleaned himself off as best he could. There was still come on his pants, and it would dry there, but there was on Billy's too, and Billy didn't seem to mind. So he just cleaned up the excess fluid, and tossed the dirty paper into the garbage can between the two beds.

They sat, almost awkwardly, for a minute or so, trading each other almost shy smiles but mostly avoiding eye contact. Or, Sam was anyway, because every time he glanced over, Billy was looking straight at him, seeming almost too relaxed to Sam, after something so monumental. Of course, it probably wasn't monumental for Billy, because Sam was certain he'd done this kind of thing before.

Sam wanted to suggest that they go out into the living room (which also happened to be the kitchen, because the house was that fucking small, although it had been advertised as '_open concept_'), because the living room was safe. It had a television, and that meant that he wouldn't have to talk, and he was feeling strangely more nervous now than he had been before they'd fooled around. He wasn't sure what Billy was thinking, if he thought Sam had been any good, if he'd changed his mind and didn't want to do this with him anymore, or if this one time was all he'd wanted in the first place, and now he was done with Sam.

So yeah, the living room seemed good right now. Television, no talking, the option of food, to keep their mouths full and make sure there was no talking, so Billy couldn't dump him for coming too soon, and being selfish.

But Dean was out there, and he'd just saw Sam trading hand jobs with some guy, and Sam would feel a whole lot better if he didn't have to look at Dean just now, because it was all just a little too weird.

And that pissed him off, because he shouldn't be feeling weird about this, shouldn't feel bad, or guilty. He'd seen Dean doing things a hell of a lot more compromising than what he'd just done with Billy, and it wasn't like he owed Dean anything. It wasn't like he'd betrayed him. Dean didn't want him, and Sam was trying to move on.

It didn't seem to be working. Maybe he needed to give it more time.

"So," Billy said, pulling Sam from his thoughts, and he turned to face him, hands placed awkwardly on his knees. Great. This was the part where Billy told him 'Thanks, I had fun. I'll call you,' and then never did. So Sam was sort of surprised when that's not what happened. "I know people generally do this the other way 'round, but, now that we've already done the making out on your bed… wanna catch a movie?"

Sam smiled, thinking that what they'd just done probably fell into the category one up from 'making out', but he would have felt silly pointing that out. "Sure," he said instead. "That… sounds good."

Billy stood, reaching a hand out to Sam, who took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Sam started toward the bedroom door (and if Billy was wondering why it was suddenly open now, when it hadn't been a minute ago, he didn't say anything) smoothing his hands down over his shirt, and pants, and over his hair. He licked his lips, took a breath, and prepared to act normal, like nothing had happened, and he hadn't just had someone's hand down his pants.

Only, there was no possible way to look you hadn't just been fooling around when you had, and besides, Dean had _seen_ it, so Sam shouldn't really care. And… didn't Sam _want_ Dean to see it? Didn't he want Dean to think he was moving on, and he didn't need him, and there were other people out there who could appreciate him, even if Dean couldn't?

Okay, yeah, so that wasn't fair. He knew Dean appreciated him, loved him, just… not the way Sam wanted him to.

When the left the bedroom they walked down the very short hallway that ended in the 'kitchen' area of the main room, where Dean sat at the tiny kitchen table, flipping through… Sam squinted to get a better look, and then snorted, rolling his eyes. 'Busty Asian Beauties'. Figured.

"Hey, Sammy, what's up?" Dean greeted, not looking up from his magazine, and acting completely, irritatingly normal. Then again, in any other family, this _was_ normal. People had boyfriends, and girlfriends, and brothers were happy for each other when they got some. And it wasn't like Sam expected Dean to congratulate him, not in front of Billy anyway, and he didn't expect him to be angry or jealous or… anything really. But some sort of recognition that he'd taken a major first step in his sexual experience would have been nice.

Then again, if Dean said anything, he would have to admit that he'd seen what he'd seen. In front of Billy. And Sam and Dean hadn't exactly been as close as they used to be, this past month.

"Dean, this is my friend Billy," Sam said, grudgingly, like he didn't really want to introduce them, but it would be incredibly rude not to. "Billy, my brother, Dean."

Dean looked up then, bright, winning smile firmly in place. God that smile. "Nice to meet you, Billy," he said, kicking back in the chair so that it was tilted slightly on two legs, one hand on the table top, the other going to rest on his thigh, legs slightly parted, and crotch overtly on display. Fuck, Dean was shameless. Sam didn't think he was even capable of not flirting with someone. And Billy was _his_ someone.

"Uh," Billy said, and swallowed, blinked, and his eyes trailed over Dean's body, legs, crotch, stomach, finally up to his face. "Yeah. Hey."

Great. Sam finally got a boyfriend (_no, don't think boyfriend, you'll just come across needy, and scare him off_) and of course as soon as Billy looked at Dean, he was a gibbering idiot, and it was all 'Sam who?'.

Sam cleared his throat, and Billy jerked his gase away from Dean, staring instead at the fridge door, a pale yellow colour that was white once upon a time. Dean's face turned to Sam, smile changing slightly, less about impressing and more honest, but it didn't fade, not even a little. It made Sam warm all over, like something was very, very right.

"So," Dean said, folding his magazine shut and pushing it away. "Was gonna order some pizza for supper." And then his head moved again, and Sam was glad the flirty smile didn't come back. "Hungry Billy?"

Billy looked back to Dean and opened his mouth, probably to say 'hell yeah, but not for pizza', and Sam spoke quickly, instead. "Thanks," he said, through gritted teeth, because this was just so damn unfair. Everyone always liked Dean better, thought Dean was so cool, and it wouldn't have bothered Sam so much if _he_ didn't look at Dean the same way everyone else did. "We're going out."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked. "Where to?"

Sam didn't say anything, just stared at Dean, and after a few seconds Billy took a half a step closer to him, so that they were almost touching now, along their sides, and he answered instead.

"See a movie," Billy said, and Sam let out a mental breath when one of Billy's fingers brushed across the back of his hand, a totally unconscious gesture, just because he wanted to touch Sam, and Sam knew he was being stupid. Billy liked him. Billy wasn't going to ditch him just because he'd met his incredibly hot brother, and Dean would never _ever_ do that to him, anyway.

Dean nodded. "Call me if you need a ride, okay Sam?" he told him, and Sam knew he was offering because neither he nor Billy were old enough to drive, and they'd be walking home in the dark, and Dean was worried. It was actually pretty cool of him, considering he didn't usually let Sam out of his sight after sundown, unless he was safely locked away somewhere, behind lines of salt and armed with a bottle of holy water.

He obviously wanted this for Sam, and really, Sam should be happy about that.

"We'll be fine," Sam said, and headed toward the door, Billy following. He heard Dean's chair legs slide across the floor as Dean got up, and came with them. Sam grabbed both his and Billy's coats from the rack by the door, and was amazed once again when the worn out screw managed to hold the rickety hook in place, and keep their coats from falling.

Billy took his jacket with a smile, and slid into it, making that usually mundane action seem fluid and sexy, and Sam just watched, until he was done, and then slid into his own. Dean was looking at Billy too, Sam noticed. Looking with an appreciative eye, and Sam thought seriously about punching Dean. When he opened the front door, Billy took a small step out, and then froze, his eyes wide, and his mouth open slightly as he took in the driveway.

He turned back around, looking at Dean in a sort of awe. "Is that your car?" he asked.

Dean grinned and nodded. "That's my baby," he answered, like a proud parent.

Sam rolled his eyes, but nobody noticed. Dad had given that car to Dean a few years ago, and Dean had been having wet dreams about it long before then. It was Dean's sixteenth birthday present, and probably the best day of Dean's life. Sam hated the fact that he was, sort of, just a little bit, mostly not, jealous of a car.

"Sam…" Billy said, turning back around to look at the Impala again. He took a few steps outside, toward it, and Dean and Sam followed. Well, at least Billy seemed to be more impressed with Dean's car than he was with Dean. "Maybe we should let your brother pick us up after. It'll be late, and all…"

Sam saw Dean chuckle, and Sam smiled too, walking side by side with Dean, behind Billy, as he moved to stand a few feet from the car, looking it over.

"Up to you, Sammy," Dean said, low and quiet so that Billy wouldn't really hear. "I can say something came up, and I can't." Dean was the best fucking big brother in the whole damn world.

Sam knew he was being stupid, and if he wanted to keep seeing Billy, they'd have to spend time around Dean sooner or later, so he smiled as Billy walked around the car, not daring to touch it, but clearly wanting to, and said, "Actually, Dean if you could give us a ride to the theatre, and pick us up after, that'd be awesome."

"Done," Dean agreed, and Billy looked over at them from the other side of the car, eyes lit up.

Dean laughed, and Sam walked with him to the driver's door. "Thanks," he mumbled, while Dean unlocked and opened the door, and slid in, reaching over to unlock the passenger side door, before getting out again, and putting a hand on Sam's arm, stopping him from going anywhere just yet.

Sam's heart sped up, but he didn't move, just looked over at Billy and smiled, like he wasn't getting hard from his brother's touch. Shit, he really needed to work on that.

"You can take shotgun, Billy," Sam offered, mostly to get Billy's attention away from Dean's hand on his arm, and Billy bounded forward to the door without a word, opening it up, and slipping inside.

Sam tried to pull away from Dean then, to go the door behind his, but Dean held him tight, and _smiled_. Sam was never, ever going to be able to get enough of that, even when it was really pissing him off.

"Have fun, little brother," Dean whispered into his ear, the words sending vibrations through Sam's body. He knew it was Dean's way of telling him it was okay, it was good, and he was happy for him, without the overt references to the pre-sex that he'd witnessed. "You've got good taste."

His tone was soft, playful, and when Dean backed up a little, Sam turned his face up to look at Dean, and Dean winked at him. Yes, Dean was happy for him, happy for _this_, for Sam dating, finding someone, and he sounded a bit like Dean used to sound, before all the craziness started. Before Sam started all the craziness by kissing his big brother.

Sam liked the way he sounded, and as they all got into the car, and Dean started her up, his baby purring to life and the music blaring from the speakers, Rush this time, Sam thought that maybe Billy would be good for them. Like Sam being with him might put things back to normal between him and Dean. Like it might make him stop wanting something he couldn't have, and give him his brother back.

Only that would probably have been asking too much, so naturally, it didn't work out that way.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 6 – Sam/Dean, Dean/OFC, Sam/OMC. The boys think about life in Ann Arbor, and each other, and Dean tries to get laid.

***

Two months later, Sam was more than a little amazed that they were still living in Ann Arbor, that he was still in the same school, and that he'd actually managed to make some friends.

Sure, Dad had told him that they wouldn't move for a while, but he hadn't really believed him. He was gone most of the time though, hunting trips nearby, sometimes not so nearby, but whenever he was going to be gone for more than a couple of days, Dean always stayed behind with Sam.

Dean had gotten a job in town. Not at a garage, like in Massachusetts, because he couldn't find out close enough by that was looking to hire anyone, so he'd found work with a contractor in the neighbourhood. He had no experience, and he couldn't really build much aside from an engine, but it didn't take a genius to measure cupboards and hammer down sub-flooring.

The hours were flexible, and nobody ever said anything if he suddenly didn't show up for a few days because he was off with Dad. The pay was also pretty good, which was important, because as long as they were staying put they couldn't really chance running any credit card scams, so their only sources of income were Dean's job and hustling pool.

Sam had been shovelling sidewalks and driveways in the neighbourhood for some pocket money, but there wasn't any snow anymore, and Dean wouldn't let him get a part time job to help out. He told him school was his job, and Sam doing well at it was what mattered. Sam was only surprised his dad had let Dean get away with telling him that.

Sam had been dating Billy, regularly, if not frequently, going on three months now. They didn't spend all their time together, or even most of it, and it wasn't really like Sam had imagined it would be when this kind of thing finally happened to him. They weren't _boyfriends_, Sam didn't think. Or, he thought that Billy didn't think they were.

They'd only gotten together outside of school about five or six times in total. Okay, it was exactly six, Sam knew that. He knew the days they'd seen each other, knew how long they'd seen each other for, knew exactly what Billy had been wearing each time. He liked Billy, and he thought that Billy liked him.

Hell, Billy told him he liked him, and he was nice to him, and he asked Sam to do something with him almost every week, and all of those times there had at least been kissing involved, so he _must_ have liked him. A few times it had gone further than kissing, after they'd gotten back from a movie, or after a cheeseburger, hands exploring each other's body's, mostly innocently. They'd never taken their clothes off, and they'd never gone any further than hand jobs, and they'd only even done that twice more since the first time.

They had fun together, and they talked, and it was good.

But at school, Billy didn't act any differently than he had before they'd started fooling around. He didn't tell any of his friends about them (friends that had started to become Sam's friends as well), didn't look at Sam any differently while they ate lunch, or passed in the halls. And he hadn't tried to touch Sam in public since that first kiss.

Sam knew it wasn't because he was worried about what people would say, because everyone knew that Billy liked boys, so it hurt a little that what they had was apparently a secret.

So no, they weren't boyfriends, not exactly, but that was still how Sam liked to think of them in his head.

The thought crossed his mind that Billy was seeing someone else, and he didn't want Sam and the other guy to find out about each other, but he dismissed the idea pretty quickly. He was just being paranoid. Everything was probably fine.

He knew the real reason that their relationship hadn't progressed as far as he would have liked, was because he wasn't ready, and Billy was probably picking up on that. Being with Billy honestly made Sam happy, and he was glad they had time together, time he never imagined he'd have with anyone but Dean, and in a way, hadn't wanted to.

But he had gotten this chance, and it was great, although was still hesitant to get completely attached. Even if they were staying in this town for a little while longer than usual, he'd still be leaving when school got out, and Billy would just be a pleasant memory.

And he still wasn't over Dean. Not by a long shot. He didn't think he ever would be. Having someone else around, someone he liked and who liked him… it was nice, but Dean was still there, and Sam still wanted him. Still had to see him with other people, and _not_ Sam, had to see him take the same girl out four different times because she was like, his girlfriend now or something, and Dean still drove him crazy with need.

He didn't know the girl's name, and he didn't think Dean knew that Sam knew about her, and Sam hadn't bothered asking about her. He didn't think Dean would have been honest anyway, but he hadn't seen him with anyone else since they'd moved here, and knowing that Dean was probably getting serious about someone, that he'd fall in love, and forget about Sam, and leave him and be happy without him, was like a sharp, tight ache in his chest.

He was starting to think that the only way he could stop feeling like this would be to not be around Dean at all. He had to be the one to leave, before Dean could leave him, before he could tell him again just how sick he was because he was in love with brother. But he was still more than two years away from college, not that he expected that little pipedream to come true, and he honestly wasn't sure that he could actually bring himself to go through with it if he got the chance.

He was so screwed.

***

Dean liked this town.

Okay, so it probably wasn't this town specifically that he liked, but he liked the idea of this town. Of almost having a home, of being part of a neighbourhood, of taking out the garbage, and having a steady, honest job. Liked knowing that Sam was happy, because that had always been the most important thing in the world to him.

In truth, he could really get behind the whole idea of settling down someplace, having a home of his own, with a nice girl, open his own garage, maybe have a couple kids. Boys. He'd be a kick-ass father. Way better than John ever was. He'd raised Sammy pretty much on his own after all, and he'd still been a kid himself.

But that just wasn't ever going to happen for him. He'd accepted that a long time ago, before he even knew that he wanted it. He had two jobs: Take care of Sammy, and hunt evil sons of bitches, and he seriously doubted he'd ever do anything else. And that was okay, most of the time, because those were two pretty awesome jobs, but being here, in Ann Arbor… that was nice too.

He liked his job, although he'd have preferred to be working on cars. He liked hunting with Dad, and having someplace warm and stable and safe to come back to after. He liked seeing Sam smile, and have friends. And he liked Abby.

He grinned, thinking about her.

She was a damn cool chick. Smart. Headed for college in the fall, but she was taking a year off after high school to save up some money, working as a waitress at the pizza place down the street. Which is where Dean had met her, when he'd gone to pick up some supper a couple months back, after he'd dropped Sam and his friend off at the movies.

She hadn't fallen for Dean's charms at first, didn't put up with any of his overt flirting or innuendo, which is what he'd like most about her. After her perfectly rounded ass, of course. He'd had to go back into the restaurant every few days for the next two weeks, and by the time she'd finally agreed to go out with him, after he'd toned down his game to almost non-existent, and tried just talking to her like a normal person, him and Sammy had had so much pizza that if they never had it again, that would have been just peachy.

Abby was great. And she was really fuckin' pretty.

He'd taken her out a few times, a movie, dinner, parking. He'd even taken her back to his place once, when he knew Sam would be out for a few hours, and shit, it had been some of the best almost-sex he'd ever had. If Dean Winchester was ever going to have a girlfriend, it would definitely be someone like Abby.

But it wasn't really that serious. They had fun, sure, and Dean really did like her, but he didn't exactly do serious. She didn't seem to mind that it was casual, not ever expecting him to call, or show up, not saying anything when he'd disappear for days at a time, or went a week without seeing her. There was none of that demanding attention, or wanting to know where he'd been, or telling him he wasn't allowed to look at other girls, that Dean always thought would along with a relationship.

As it happened, Dean wasn't looking at other girls. Well, okay, so the only way he wouldn't look at other girls would be if he was blind, and there had been a few in town that had caught his eye, but he wasn't seeing any of them.

There had been a guy about a month ago, and Dean thought he was hot, but he'd been so drunk he honestly couldn't remember, and Dean had blown him in the bathroom of a bar a few towns over, while him and Dad had been away for a couple of days, before fucking the guy up against the grungy wall.

When he'd come out of the bathroom, adjusting his pants and licking a stray drop of cum from the corner of his mouth, John had been waiting, glaring disapprovingly, and mumbling at him to 'Keep it in your fuckin' pants, and keep your head in the game, Dean. We're on a job'.

Yeah, yeah. He'd heard it before. You get to have fun when the evil bastard you're hunting is dead. He supposed he should have been glad that John hadn't made a big deal out of him being with man, hadn't gotten in some hurtful little dig. But John never did. Mostly just ignored it, and never made any kind of deal at all.

No, he hadn't done that since the first time, when he'd actually caught Dean on his knees, during the act. After he'd pulled Dean back, kneed the guy in the balls and knocked him out with the butt of his gun (because Dean had been only fifteen, and the guy he was blowing had been a good ten years older), he'd accepted Dean's occasional craving for dick pretty well, overall.

But other than that guy, Dean hadn't been with anyone else in over three months.

It was partly because he didn't have time, partly because whenever he felt like company, Abby seemed like the best option to him. But mostly, it was because he knew they weren't going anywhere until probably July, and it might be a bad idea for him to fool around too much.

He'd been caught a couple of times messing around, by girls who thought they were more than what they were, and it had never really bothered him, because he had never stuck around long enough to really have to deal with the consequences. But if that happened here, he might end up spending his nights alone, while his little brother saw more action than he did.

And that just wouldn't be cool.

Dean was happy for Sam, though. Billy was a good kid, or at least he'd seemed like one the few times that Dean had met him. Mostly it was just in passing, and he'd say hello before he and Sam disappeared into the bedroom, or when Dean came home, and Billy was on his way out.

A couple of times though, they'd actually talked a little. The three of them had had pizza a few times, back when he was trying to get Abby to go out with him, and a couple of times he'd driven Billy home, because it was late, and he didn't think the kid should be out on his own.

And he was pretty cute, Dean had to admit, even if he was only fifteen, and it made Dean feel like a bit of a pervert for thinking so. Hell, if he was a couple of years older, and Sam hadn't called dibs, he'd probably have had the guy bent over the hood of the impala by now.

He was also good to Sam, from what Dean had seen, and the most important thing, was that he made Sam happy. Sam liked him, and Sam was usually a pretty good judge of character, and that was good enough for Dean.

But if the little punk so much as caused Sammy to frown, Dean was going to kick his ass.

Sam smiled and laughed when Billy was around, like Dean had never seen him do with anyone but him, and that was good. Sure, there was a part of Dean that felt sidelined, like he was being replaced, because Sam had always loved him best, had always wanted to spend all his time with him, and that wasn't true anymore.

Sam and Dean had pretty much been each other's entire worlds, and now… now that wasn't true anymore. Sam had someone. And yeah, Dean felt a little left out, but mostly he was happy. Sammy deserved this.

And this relationship with Billy was really helping to sort Sam out, Dean thought. Helping him be a little more normal, do things normal kids got to do, instead of being dragged across the country and falling in lust with his brother.

He had a feeling Sam's attraction to him hadn't ended with the start of his relationship with Billy, because he still caught him staring sometimes, still felt him just a little too close when they sat on the same couch, or the same side of a table in a diner. You know, when they happened to actually be spending any time together, which hadn't been very often these days. But Dean figured it was just a matter of time, of more time spent with Billy, and less with Dean, before that was worked out.

So Dean gave him space.

So much space that Dean was starting to go a little crazy with missing him. They used to be close, used to have fun together, and now they hardly talked.

Sam hadn't even said anything to him about Billy, not really. He didn't try to hide him, but he always just called him a 'friend', and hadn't ever hinted that they were more than that. Hadn't told Dean that Billy was his boyfriend.

He probably figured it was pretty obvious to Dean, after Dean had found them with their hands in each other's pants, but it still kind of stung. It wasn't like Dean was rushing to tell Sam about everyone he hooked up with, and he sure as hell made sure never to mention Abby, but that was different.

He knew it still hurt Sam to know that Dean dated, and he was just trying not to rub his nose in it. And he'd actually kind of been hoping that Sam would want to talk to him about what was going on with him, because he knew it must be a pretty huge deal for his little brother. It was his first relationship, and it was with a boy. Two fairly major things.

Dean, not being exactly the sharing type, was a little relieved not to have to listen to Sam talk about his feelings or some bullshit like that, but he'd always sort of figured Sam would come to him when he started to get sexual with people, ask for advice or whatever. It was stupid he knew, and totally clichéd, but he'd wanted it.

But things between him and Sam were still strained, awkward, and Sam was keeping pretty damn quiet about his love life, and everything else. Dean didn't even remember the last time Sam told him about a test, or his grade on a school paper. This really sucked. Fuck, he missed his brother. He'd deal with it though, if it meant Sammy was happy.

***

It was a Friday, and Dean was out.

He was out with Abby, Sam knew, because he'd finally been introduced to her. Sam had come home from school, dropping his bag by the door and closing it behind him loudly, almost sighing in relief when he'd plunked down on the ratty couch, and picked up the remote, flicking the television on. It had been a rough day.

He'd heard music from the bedroom, and figured Dean must have been in there, but he didn't bother telling Dean he was home, just sat there, and watched re-runs of Transformers, and acted, for all the world, like he didn't have a brother in the next room that he loved more than anything, and wished to God loved him back the way he wanted. Acted like he always did. Because he was trying pretty damn hard these days _not_ to love Dean quite so much.

And Sam hadn't ever failed before, not at anything he'd put his mind to, and despite recent, and incredibly heavy setbacks, he wasn't going to fail at this either. Dean was his brother, and only his brother, and Sam had to damn well except that, and get over it. He was almost over it already. He loved Dean, simply because Dean was his brother, and there was nothing at all creepy about the way he felt. Right.

It was pretty quick, quicker than usual on the days that Dean was already home when Sam got there, that Sam heard the bedroom door open and shut. Less than five minutes. On the rare times that Dean wasn't out somewhere in the afternoons, he'd usually just hang out in the bedroom, listening to his music, or looking at skin mags or something, and not bother coming out until it was time to eat.

Sam just stared at the television, but listened intently to what Dean was doing, and when he heard footsteps down the hall, two sets of them, and mumbles, followed by a slight feminine giggle, he wanted to throw up.

It wasn't like he hadn't known about Dean's girlfriend, but he'd never brought her home before, as far as Sam knew, and the fact that he was now, that Sam would actually meet her, would have to actually admit that his brother was making some sort of connection with someone that wasn't him… It made his stomach hurt, made him feel sick.

It was somehow easier, both Dean and his girl, and Sam and Billy, if they didn't talk about it. Easier for Sam to pretend that one day… Yeah, that was stupid, and he knew he needed to move on, Dean had made that pretty damn clear. But it wasn't fair that Dean just went off and practically got married (because by Dean's standards, dating someone more than once _was_ married) with some random chick that he hadn't even bothered to run past Sam.

Not that he needed to check with Sam before he did anything. It would just be nice, was all. They'd been so distant lately, and Sam missed him.

***

Dean's tongue trailed slowly along the side of Abby's neck, from her collar bone to her ear, while he used one of his hands to hold both of hers pinned to the bed over her head. His other hand stroked up her bare stomach to cup one of her tits (less than a handful, but still not bad), kneading the soft tissue, gentle and smooth, before pinching the nipple sharply, drawing a deep gasp from the girl.

"God, Dean," she breathed out, head turned to the side to give him more access to her neck, and slid one leg out from under Dean's, to wrap around him, pulling him close. Dean groaned low and deep, almost a rumble, and pushed his hips forward, his naked cock sliding against the damp material of her underwear, and nipped lightly at her earlobe.

She matched the movement of his hips, so that his erection slid over her pussy, leaving sticky trails along the cotton, and he shuddered. All he would have to do, would be to reach down and move one thin strip of black out of the way, and he could slide in, feel wetness and heat gripping him tight. Fuck, he was gonna come just thinking about it.

He really wanted to do it, go for it, push himself inside and fuck Abby into his too-thin, second hand mattress, with the evil springs that came out to poke him in the back, and other much less fun places, in the middle of the night. Stupid piece of shit deserved a pounding.

He wasn't entirely sure why he wasn't, because usually he didn't bother asking, just took, and trusted people to tell him to stop if he was going too far, or too fast. It hadn't happened much, people telling him 'stop', but when it did, Dean listened. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt someone, or make them do something they didn't want.

Dean was carnal, but he was incredibly respectful. And for some reason, he and Abby hadn't had sex yet. They'd fooled around, she'd blown him a few times, and fuck, the things her mouth could do. He'd returned the favour, with enthusiasm, and she'd tasted so fucking good, and he'd been thinking about taking this all the way since the first time he saw her.

But, for one reason or another, they'd never actually gotten there. Sometimes it was interruptions, sometimes it was because they didn't have enough time, and more than once it was because they'd gotten off in other ways first, and Dean wasn't in any shape for the main event, not before he had to take off, or she had to get home. It wasn't like he was sixteen anymore. Damn, twenty felt older than it should feel, sometimes.

But now was looking like a pretty good time, because they were alone, and she didn't have to be at work for a few hours, and Dean was naked, and Abby almost was, and they were moving against each other, sweat-slick skin sliding, and it was all so damn good. But they'd been together for a couple of months now, not committed, but something had definitely grown between them, and Dean felt, at this point, that if he was going to fuck her blind, he should at least ask her first.

He opened his mouth to do just that, but he didn't get the chance to speak, because Abby arched up under him, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that actually fucking made him dizzy. It could have been the fact that he was devoid of oxygen for at least thirty seconds, but it was probably because Abby could work a kiss like they were going out of style.

"Please," she begged, when she let go of Dean's mouth, collapsing to the bed, panting, the rise and fall of her chest causing her breasts to swell and shrink, and Dean was almost mesmerized. He clenched his teeth together in an effort not to lean forward and capture one of those perfect, pert little nipples in his mouth.

Not that he didn't want to, he was just trying to concentrate on what it was she was saying. Because that was what people did, right? Listened to other people talk, instead of just wantonly screwing them without any tedious conversation?

Only, conversation with Abby wasn't tedious, and Dean really did want to listen, especially since she'd said 'please', because that had made Dean's cock jerk against her. Fuck, he loved it when they begged. Hell, he liked to beg too, on occasion, but he needed to listen right now, just in case she followed up the 'please' with 'I have to go'.

"Please," she said again, and wrapped the other leg around Dean, making a show of struggling under him, arms tensing and trying to lift under his dominating grip.

Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew that she didn't want him to let go, or she'd be fighting a lot harder than she was. Also, she knew Dean well enough to know that if she didn't want this, all she had to do was say so. So she clearly did, and she clearly wanted Dean to be in charge. And he was _so_ okay with that.

"Please what?" Dean asked, knowing that he was teasing, because they both understood what she was getting at. He just liked to hear people say it. "What do you want, baby?"

"Do it," she demanded, eyes closing, and going suddenly lax under him.

"Yeah," he groaned, hand slowly moving down her side to rest over her mound, thumb teasing the side of her panties. What he really meant was _hell the fuck yeah_, but he figured what he'd said was good enough. It was about fuckin' time.

He dates a girl for two months, and doesn't even complain when she doesn't put out? He was turning into a freakin' woman.

Dean's thumb slid, pushing aside the material, and it slid over Abby's clit, causing her to tense and jerk, gasp helplessly at the pleasure. Dude, this was almost the best part, getting them ready, watching their face, knowing they needed you.

His thumb slid down then, pushing inside her pussy, just a little, and he watched her smile around a sound of pleasure, as she relaxed even more, and her legs spread wider. "Yeah," she said, and Dean was almost vibrating with want.

He took his hand back after a much too short stint at exploration, and chuckled amusedly at her huff of protest, and grabbed his cock, positioning it for entrance. Oh, this was going to be fucking _awesome_.

And it would have been. He was sure of it. Only it wasn't.

Because he heard a noise over the soft sounds of REO Speedwagon (and shut the fuck up, he was trying to get laid, not enjoy the tunes). The noise of a door shutting, and then footfalls, the television flicking on.

He breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't some supernatural monster, and on the next inhale he mentally cursed Sam for getting home at just the worst possible time.

Fuck! Wes he destined to pretty much never get laid again? Sam thought he was in love with him, therefore Dean wasn't allowed to screw anyone else? Fuck, that was annoying. And he couldn't get laid, not right now, anyway. He knew he couldn't.

Couldn't go through with this, couldn't fuck Abby with Sam sitting in the next room. Okay, so it wasn't like he _couldn't_. Hell, he'd had plenty of sex with Sam nearby, within earshot. And he wasn't forgetting that time a few months back when Sam had watched him getting his dick sucked.

But things were different now. Sam had admitted how he felt. Or how he _thought_ he felt. And if Dean did something like this, it would be a dick move, because Sam would know, would hear them, and even if he didn't, he'd know when they left the bedroom.

And that never used to bother Dean, Sam knowing about him hooking up. But now it just seemed cruel. Like he was rubbing Sam's nose in the fact that he was happily messing around, and Sam still wasn't good enough.

Of course Dean knew that wasn't true at all. Sam was more than good enough. Sam was the best. Dean just didn't want to fuck him, was all. And really, in the grand scheme of things, wanting to fuck someone counted for very little, in Dean's world.

What mattered was… well, if Dean was going to get his chick on… what mattered was love. He loved Sam. More than he loved almost anything, _absolutely_ more than anything, on the days that Dad was being a particular pain in the ass. Way more than Sam loved him. And that shit was what mattered, not where Dean stuck his cock. Because in the end, none of these girls, or guys, would be there. But Sam would. Dean and Sam. Always.

And he just couldn't stand to hurt his little brother, not anymore than he already had, with his rejections.

So, with a heavy sigh, and a painful groan, he pulled both of his hands away, placing them on the bed, and using them to push up, and away from Abby, rolling off to the side. The bed was only a twin, so that meant they were still touching, and Dean couldn't help but touch, fingers moving across her hip, down her thigh…

"My brother's home," he said, and he knew he sounded like he wanted to cry. Shit, he wanted to kill Sam. It was his own damn fault for caring so much, though.

"So?" Abby asked, trying to wrap he leg around Dean's again, pull him over her. "He's not gonna come in here if he knows you're here, is he?"

Dean snorted and shook his head. No. He wasn't. But only because they tried to avoid each other as best they could these days, even while they tried to pretend nothing was wrong. "He might," Dean said, shrugging. "Likes to do his homework on his bed after school."

That much was true, Sam did. And Dean loved to see that, loved to sneak hidden glances at Sam while his teeth bit his bottom lip and he drummed a pencil against his chin, as he figured things out. Sam was smart, and he had so much potential, and Dean was proud of him.

He hoped that Sam could away from all this someday, become a doctor, or a lawyer, or marine biologist. That was what all the smart kids were into these days, wasn't it? Marine biology? Anyway, something like that, with a wife and a dog and _normal_, like he deserved.

Dean would be lonely as fuck, of course, without Sam around, but that didn't matter very much. Not in the face of Sam's happiness.

"Fuck," Dean hissed, closing his eyes tight for a second, before he leaned over and kissed Abby on the lips. It was supposed to be quick, a consolation prize for both of them, but it turned heated almost without permission from either of them.

Finally, when Dean felt like he was just going to fuck her anyway, and it really didn't matter if Sammy came in and saw them, Dean pulled back, panting, and standing up. He was naked, and hard, and completely unashamed, because he knew he looked good, and Abby was looking at him with such want that it made his knees weak.

"Sorry, baby," he told her, honestly meaning it. "Soon, I promise."

A couple of minutes later, they were both dressed, and Dean opened the bedroom door, Abby following him out, hand on his arm. He liked it, he really did, liked the contact between them, but he just so didn't want Sam to see this.

He was trying, for fuck's sake, trying to be good to Sammy, and it was doing nothing but biting him in the ass.

Dean cleared his throat when they walked past the kitchen table, stopping so that they were to Sam's side, but with the way the couch was facing in the living room, and the shift of Sam's eyes, Dean knew he'd been watching them since they stepped out of the bedroom.

Sam looked over at Dean at the noise, and he didn't look like he was upset, or anything really, except eager to get back to whatever he was watching. Well, that was cool, because Dean wasn't really in the mood to talk about anything.

Introductions, and then Sam could turn away, and he and Abby could pretend he wasn't there, and talk, and maybe go out.

"Sam, this is my friend Abby. Abby, Sam".

***

Sam looked her over briefly, and he wished he could pay her a hell of a lot more attention, because anyone that could get his brother to settle down like this was someone he was very interested in. But he couldn't risk that, couldn't risk coming across all moody and petulant, because he knew that was exactly how he'd sound if he more than glanced at her, or God forbid, _talked_ to her. So he just grunted, and managed a stilted, "Hey. Nice to meet you," and mumbled a prayed of thanks when the two of them turned, and went to sit at the kitchen table, grabbing a couple of soda's from the fridge on their way.

Sam tried not to get too jealous, because this girl, (_Abby_, and seriously, what kind of name was Abby, anyway? Yeah, fine, a normal one) would be gone in a matter of months. And so would Billy, Sam had never for a second forgotten that, which was why he'd been having such a hard time letting his friend in.

Sam wasn't looking forward to moving at all, and he was looking forward to it just a little too much. Because once again, two months from now, and on the danger-filled road to nowhere, all Sam and Dean were going to have, would be each other.

That thought, oddly, made Sam feel a little better.

Sam had turned up the volume on the television then, nice and passive aggressive, and he could hear some happy whispers from the kitchen area in the background, while Optimus Prime gathered his troops on the 12 inch black and white in front of him.

"Right, we're outta here, little brother," Dean had said, and Sam had only grunted, hoping desperately to be spared the details.

Dean had been kind, and only told him that they were going for supper, and wouldn't be out late, because Abby had a shift at the pizza place starting at eight o'clock, and Dean was going to drop her off and then come straight home.

He was just trying to make Sam feel safe, let him know that he wouldn't be alone all night, and that Dean would be close if he needed him, but all Sam heard, was that there wasn't much chance of Dean getting laid in the next few hours. And that knowledge warmed him.

God, he was in so much trouble. He really couldn't go on like this, and he needed for Dean to know, once and for all, even if it was a lie, that Sam had moved on. That he was happy with Billy, and that he didn't need Dean there, _all the damn time_, looking after him.

He couldn't stand the look Dean gave him, pity and brotherly affection and that damn self-sacrificing attitude of his, like if Sam couldn't handle it, he wouldn't bring Abby around again. Like he'd go on pretending that he didn't get his dick wet just about weekly, because he just went to work and then home to Sam, each and every day, because that was how Sam needed it.

Well, Sam didn't need Dean to spare his delicate little feelings. His every waking (and most of his sleeping) thoughts weren't about Dean.

He'd let Dean know that he had his own life.

Even if it was mostly a lie.

So after Dean and Abby left for their romantic little supper, (fine, so it was probably burgers at McDonald's) Sam called Billy.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 7 – Sam/Dean, Sam/OMC, Dean/OFC. Sam's feeling a little low, so he invites Billy over to cheer him up. It works, and it doesn't.

***

Sam heard the knock on the door around seven thirty, and smiled as he opened it, allowing Billy to kiss him quickly on the lips before he stepped to back to invite him in. As soon as Billy closed the door behind him, and started to toe off his shoes, Sam grabbed him, two hands making tight fists in the denim of his spring jacket, and slammed him against the wall, pressing in close, body's touching.

Billy's eyes narrowed in slight confusion, because Sam wasn't usually very aggressive. In fact, Sam hardly ever initiated anything physical between them, though he was always glad to go along with things when Billy did. And using force like this was _definitely_ new.

"Missed you," Sam mumbled, somewhat embarrassed, and figured that was a good enough explanation for now. Billy started to smirk at that, no doubt coming up with some sort of smart-ass comment about how sexy and missable he was, but Sam didn't let him talk. He covered Billy's mouth quickly with his own, applying much more pressure than was actually comfortable, but Sam needed to do it.

Billy let him. Hell, Billy actually _moaned_ into the bruising kiss, thrust his hips forward a little bit, his own hands moving to rest on Sam's hips, and opened his mouth to Sam. He didn't try to take control, didn't push his tongue into Sam's mouth, just gently moved his hands over Sam slowly, and let Sam lead.

Sam deepened the kiss, though he let up on the pressure, sliding his tongue over Billy's lips and into his mouth, swirling around Billy's own tongue and across his teeth. They lasted a good minute like that, and Sam felt a little silly, almost like he was trying to swallow Billy whole, and he didn't really understand why it felt so damn good. Billy tasted a little like tomato and garlic, probably from the spaghetti Sam guessed he'd had for supper before he'd come over, and Sam liked that taste.

Billy made another appreciate noise, and his hands slid to Sam's back, fingers slipping into the waistband of Sam's jeans, moving lower. There was plenty of space in the pants to fit a couple of fingers. Or hands. They used to be Dean's, and they were a little big on Sam, and sometimes he wore a belt, but usually just let them ride way too low on his hips, and tried to cover it up with big shirts.

All that really accomplished was making Sam look smaller than he really was, especially when he stood next to Dean, who'd already finished growing, coming in at just over six feet tall.

Billy's fingers teased over his skin, soft, harmless circles, and Sam swiped his tongue across the roof of Billy's mouth, almost vibrating with how good everything felt. But when one finger moved just a little too far, unexpectedly brushing over the top of Sam's crack and slipping just the tiniest bit inside, Sam broke the kiss on a gasp and pulled back.

"Sorry," he said, breathing heavily, hand coming up to wipe the saliva from his mouth, and he stepped back, smiling awkwardly, and blushing. Though whether he was sorry for practically attacking Billy in the first place, or for pulling away when things went a little further than he was used to, he didn't know.

"Really not a problem, Sam," Billy assured him, grinning seductively, and none too subtly moved his hand to adjust his hardening dick through his pants.

"Yeah," Sam said, looking at the floor briefly before backing up even more, and gesturing lamely to the kitchen. "Do you… want something to drink, or eat?" They didn't have much, a pitcher of iced tea, the kind from the powder mix, and some canned beans. Him and were between trips to the grocery store at the moment. They were between Dean's paycheques, too, and Dad hadn't been by, or sent any money, in over two weeks.

For once, Sam was grateful that Dean had a girlfriend, because at least she had a job that guaranteed the brothers some free food.

Sam blushed even harder, if that was possible, at the way that Billy looked at him when he asked that question, and had to turn his head away, briefly. Billy's eyes were heated, intense, almost ravenous, and his smile was sly and calculating. He looked Sam up and down, and Sam just knew that he was imagining all kinds of things he wanted to eat that Sam didn't have in the fridge.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks," Billy said, after a few seconds, hungry look dissolving into his usual, innocent flirtation so quickly that Sam might have thought he'd imagined it. He hadn't, and he knew that, and it made him a little nervous, but it excited him, too. Billy _wanted_ him. Wanted to have sex with him. And there was no way in hell Sam was actually going to. Not yet, and not with Billy, but he was happy to do other stuff. And it was fucking _great_ to be wanted like that.

Sam nodded, and felt awkward for the first time with Billy time since they'd started fooling around. It was stupid, because this was just like any other of the half dozen times that Billy had been at his place, and he hadn't felt unsure then.

"So… I got the new _Savage Garden_ CD yesterday," he said, and he could almost hear Billy's snort of amusement at both Sam's taste in music, and his bizarrely awkward segue. Of course, all Billy really did was smile genuinely at Sam, and take a couple of steps closer to him, closing the distance between them, but not touching.

"Why don't we give it a listen, then?" he suggested with a wink, and took Sam's hand, leading him into the bedroom.

When they got there Billy let go of his hand to sit down on his bed, near the foot, facing the head, cross legged, with his hands drifting absently over the comforter. The same position he usually sat in when they hung out there, while Sam mirrored him from the other side of his bed, and they talked and kissed.

Sam headed to the radio, that had been upgraded recently to include a CD player, courtesy of his snow-shovelling money, because even though Dean and Dad refused to catch up to the times, Sam had insisted on one. He fumbled with his very first purchase for the player, carefully taking it out of the case, and putting the disc in the tray.

As the first bars of the music started up, quiet enough that they could still talk, but loud enough that they could hear it, because listening to the music was the pretence he'd used, after all, Sam took the half step necessary to land him on his bed, and sat down across from Billy, smiling, and letting the first two fingers on his right hand trace playful, random patterns over Billy's left knee.

It was probably thirty seconds later that Billy let out an amused sort of not-quite-laugh, and shifted so that he was sitting a bit closer to Sam, their knees almost touching. "It's…" he started, still smiling in amusement, and tilting his head toward the source of the music. "It's good."

"Shut up," Sam told him, trying to frown, but not quite able to put his heart into it. "I like it."

Billy's smile turned softer at that, but he didn't say anything.

"Thanks," Sam said, looking down at where his hand rested over Billy's thigh now. "For coming over tonight. I know we didn't have plans or anything, and it was kind of short notice…"

"No worries," Billy cut him off, taking Sam's hand in his and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles on his middle two fingers before putting it back down on the bed in the small space between them. "You sounded like you needed the company."

Sam nodded once, twice, before he realised that he was agreeing to how pathetic and lonely he was, and stopped, wanting desperately to say something that wasn't completely lame. He opened his mouth to do just that, but he was pretty nervous tonight, maybe because his motives in inviting Billy over hadn't exactly been pure, and not a single thing came to mind. He closed his mouth again stupidly, swallowing down some air.

"Though…" Billy continued, and Sam didn't like that tone. Would have held his breath if he wasn't currently choking on it. "I did have to cancel my date with Cal. You know," he added as Sam's half-blank, half-terrified look. "The hot guy that works the counter at the video store?"

Sam would have swallowed, again if not for the fact that he thought he was choking. He did manage a pathetic attempt at a nod, though. He knew that guy. Or at least, he'd seen him. And yeah, he was hot.

"He was a peach about rescheduling, though, so it's cool."

And it seemed like now Sam had actually digested enough of that information for his heart to stutter and seize up, and he looked at Billy, unable to look anywhere else, while he fought back the urge to scream, or cry, to tell Billy to get the fuck out.

He knew he must look like he'd just been punched in the gut, because he sure as hell felt like he had. It wasn't as if he and Billy had talked about not seeing anyone else, and they'd made no mention of how serious this thing between them was or wasn't, but _fuck_. They'd been getting together pretty regularly, and they kissed, and touched, and had orgasms together for fuck's sake, and Sam had thought…

Yeah, well, it didn't really matter what Sam had thought, because apparently he was an idiot. He did a piss poor job of keeping his face from crumpling, and he nodded, _again_, because clearly that was the only thing he was capable of doing at the moment, and cleared his throat, trying to level himself enough to speak.

"Sorry, Billy," he said, and he took his hands back into his own lap, even shuffled backward a little on the bed so that he couldn't feel the heat radiating off Billy's body anymore. He missed it. It was cozy, and warm, and made him feel safe. Almost like being near Dean.

"I didn't… I mean… if you had plans, we could have…"

"Sam," Billy said, doing a damn good job at biting back his laughter. He reached his hands out to grab both of Sam's, and squeezed them, once, looking at him with those devastatingly beautiful, sympathetic eyes, and Sam wanted to die.

"You should see your face, love," Billy continued, and he did laugh a little, then. "Sorry, sorry," he quickly apologised, when Sam actually started to tear up, though it was more in anger now, at Billy's finding this so funny, than it was in hurt.

"I was kidding, Sam." And then Billy leaned forward to kiss him, not pressing, because he wasn't an idiot, and Sam was pissed off, but reassuring, like he was where he wanted to be, and sexy video store clerks didn't interest him in the least.

Sam wanted to punch him in the face a little for being such a dick. Fuck, him and Dean would really get along if Sam would actually let the stupid jerks spend any time together. Which was probably a lot of the reason that he didn't.

He also wanted to kiss Billy back, wanted to smile, and some of the colour did return to his face, because it really was a good thing that Billy hadn't had a date with someone else that night. But Billy hadn't exactly gone out of his way to assure Sam that he was the only one. Didn't tell Sam that it was just the two of them, and nobody else.

And in truth, Sam probably wouldn't even have been able to tell Billy the same thing back, even if he had told him those things. Because it wasn't, really. It was Sam and Billy, and that was really, really good. But it was also Dean. Dean. Always. In the back of his mind, somewhere, and Sam knew that if Dean would have him, he'd be with him, even now, even though he knew it was fucked up, and even with Billy offering to be right there.

So it really wasn't fair that he expected such fidelity of Billy, when he wasn't willing to promise the same thing, not if it was up to him. But Dean had made it damn clear that the two of them would never happen, and he just wanted to mean something to someone, something romantic.

"Baby," Billy drawled, and despite the accent it reminded him of Dean, 'cause he was always calling people 'baby', and Sam tried to push back the thought. Billy kissed him again, and moved to climb over him, pushing Sam back, and down on the bed, one leg between Sam's, one to his side. "You're the only one I want, I promise you."

And again, that sounded like something Dean would say, when he was trying to appease some girl, right before he went off and made out with her best friend. "Don't…" Sam said, and Billy kissed him, again, and again, quick pecks, but full of lust and, Sam couldn't deny it, affection. "Don't say that if you don't mean it. I'm not asking for anything here, I just…"

"Shhh," Billy hushed, lips still resting against Sam's. "I know we haven't known each other long, but trust me, Sam, the last thing I'll ever do is lie to you. I'm not exactly new to this, not like you are, and I'm not sayin' we'll be together forever, but… for right now…" he trailed off, and shrugged, quirking his lips up at Sam, and settling over him securely, resting his weight on Sam.

Sam let him, because it felt good, and he wanted it, and even though Billy hadn't finished his sentence, Sam thought he could figure out the ending. And besides, between the two of them, Sam was the one that was lying. He hadn't told Billy that they'd probably be leaving Ann Arbor after the school year ended, and he had no plans to.

No, Sam was going to be a great big chickenshit, and maybe give him a call, or mention on the way out of school on the last day, that his dad had gotten a transfer, and they were leaving town. Because if Billy knew for a fact that this relationship was a dead end, why on Earth would he continue with it?

"Sam?" Billy asked, then licked his tongue over Sam's lips, one hand smoothing over his shaggy brown hair, pushing it softly off his face. He looked more than just puzzled, he looked worried. Sam was almost glad. "Are you alright?"

Sam closed his eyes, and snorted, shook his head. "Yeah," he said, in direct contradiction to the shaking of his head. He opened his eyes again, and put his arms around Billy. "Yeah, fine." It was mostly true, and Billy looked so good on top of him, and Sam just needed to touch him, needed to be touched.

Also, Dean would be home soon, and if he was making out with Billy when Dean got there, and Dean happened to see them… well good. It was childish, yeah, he knew that, but honestly, having Dean see this was most of the reason for his calling Billy over in the first place. He wanted Dean to know that he wasn't the only thing in Sam's world, and he could be happy with someone else. And he also wished, a tiny, vain little wish, that it would make Dean jealous.

He wanted Dean to be sorry that he hadn't taken him up on his offer, even though he knew that wouldn't happen. Dean just didn't feel the same way about him as he felt about Dean, and since Sam wasn't an idiot, he knew he was never going to. It didn't make the getting over him any easier. Didn't even make him really _want_ to get over him.

Sam pushed Billy back a little, and used the extra space to work the covers out from underneath him, and Billy took the hint and helped him out, pulling the blanket back up over them, covering them from the waist down, while Sam worked off his t-shirt, and tossed it to the floor next to the bed.

Billy sucked in a breath, looking appreciatively at Sam, and did the same, almost too fast for Sam to really drink in the benefits of the motion, and then Billy was back over him, kissing him, resting his bare chest against Sam's.

It was the first time they'd taken their shirts off together, and Sam really wished he could get a better look, but he was also nervous. Of seeing, or being seen, both likely, and he reached around Billy to grab the sheet, and pull it up to their shoulders. He was feeling just a little too naked, and being covered from the room, if not from Billy's eyes, made him a bit more comfortable.

He really did want the chance to see Billy though, look at his body, let his eyes rake over it, stare so long and intently that it would make Billy shiver, as though he were actually touching it. And that was a little weird, because before now, even the few times they'd traded hand jobs, Sam had hid his face in Billy's neck, hadn't even so much as glanced directly at his cock, too scared, too twitchy.

But now… now Sam wanted to see all of him, wanted to _feel_ all of him. Just didn't want to… you know… Sex was definitely not an option at the moment.

Billy twisted and adjusted his body, slowly as he kissed Sam, stroking his hands over Sam's bare skin, and worked his way between Sam's legs, without protest. He dug his fingers hard into Sam's shoulders and ground his jeans-covered dick down against Sam's until they were both completely hard (which really only took about fifteen seconds), panting, and letting out tiny little groans the whole time.

"Fuck, yeah, Sam," Billy breathed, and Sam could only thank God that he hadn't called him 'Sammy', because that would have been way too much. As it was, Sam was having a hard time seeing straight, having a hard time not begging Billy to fuck him. This all felt so good, but he just wasn't ready for anything like that, and he didn't want to lose it to some guy that wasn't even officially his boyfriend, and that he was going to be leaving much too soon.

But he was tempted. Tempted to actually go through with what he knew Billy wanted, instead of just the tame little show he'd planned to put on for Dean, but now, when he actually thought about it, it didn't sit right. He knew he wasn't going to have sex with Billy, and he suddenly didn't want Dean to catch them like this either. It didn't seem fair. To anyone.

He actually liked Billy. _Really_ liked him. And their being together shouldn't be about anyone or anything other than them, and what they wanted from each other.

So when Billy's hands seemed to find themselves at the front of Sam's pants, trying to work them open, one of Sam's hands shot down to cover them, stopping their movement.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "No, Billy, I don't think we should…"

"That's okay," Billy told him, kissed him, moved his hands to Sam's sides, slid them across his ribs, fingers taking care to caress each one in turn as Billy's hands worked their way up. "It's okay. We don't have to."

"It's just…" Sam started, and he couldn't help but notice that he was still thrusting his hips up against Billy, legs spread wide and wrapped around his hips. Crap. Even if he had wanted to do it, he didn't want to be the bottom, and here his body was, laughing at him, and calling him a little bitch. Just like Dean did.

"It's just I don't think I'm ready for… you know." And God, could be more of a freak? What kind of almost-sixteen-year-old guy wasn't ready for sex? And who the crap admitted it?

"It's…"

"I mean… you know… I like what we do, but… just… you know… not yet." And fuck, but it was just getting worse.

"Sam," Billy said, and he still had tint of amusement to his voice, and it made Sam really want to be pissed off. "God, you're so fucking adorable." Sam thought he could hear Billy sigh, fond, almost reverent, like Sam actually meant something to him.

"I could really fall for you, you know that Sam?" Sam didn't answer, and Billy obviously didn't expect him to, but it was nice to hear. "And whether or not you want to fuck… it has nothing to do with it. What we do… it's good. I'm happy. Aren't you?"

"I… yes," Sam said, because he really was, in some ways.

"Then let's just do what we do, and if anything else comes of it, it'll be because we both want it to."

Sam nodded, and tilted his chin up to catch Billy's lips in a shallow, but long, kiss. He still had no idea what that meant, if it made them boyfriends, or if Billy meant he would wait for Sam to be ready, or if it was some combination of the two, where Billy would be his boyfriend if Sam put out.

But no, Billy wasn't like that, Sam didn't think, despite his indecent sense of humour.

Sam tcanted his hips up just the smallest bit, an invitation to keep doing what they had been doing, even though he'd made it clear it wasn't going any further tonight, and Billy let out a relieved puff of air across Sam's lips.

"Oh thank God," he croaked, and started moving against Sam again, deep, slow thrusts, dragging his bulge over Sam's, and Sam gasped. He started to get more sure in his own movements then, meeting Billy's rhythm, arms sliding shyly up over the warm skin of Billy's back, and Billy arched into the touch, causing the sheet to slip down a little, the top half of his back bared to the room. "Thought you were gonna tell me to stop completely."

Sam chuckled and kissed Billy again, heart fluttering nervously in his chest as he slid one hand down, slowly, so slowly Billy probably thought he'd never get there, until the palm of his hand was resting over Billy's ass. He paused for a moment and broke the kiss, looking into Billy's eyes, so open and blue and almost sparkling with want and contentment.

He squeezed his hand gently, and then pulled Billy closer to him, squishing their cocks together almost painfully, and they both let out little gasps of pleasure at the sensation. He did it again, and again, while his other hand mapped out the naked skin of Billy's back and arms. Sweet Jesus, but this felt so fucking good. _Billy_ felt so fucking good. He was small, smaller than Sam, skinnier, but he was deceptively strong, and when Sam touched him like this, he could feel the powerful muscle sitting just below his skin.

It was like silk over steel, and Sam wondered if Dean would feel anything like this, or if he'd be softer, more like Sam.

Billy started to move faster, picking up his pace, but not rushing it, and Sam let him. Hell, Sam _encouraged_ him, tilting his own hips up to meet him, his hand on Billy's ass to drag him closer and harder, letting out tiny little squeaks of pleasure with each thrust that, were actually kind of embarrassing.

Billy wasn't exactly being silent either, but for some reason his quiet groans and heavy breaths and whispers of "fuck, Sam, God," sounded way sexier to Sam's ears than his own pathetic noises of pleasure.

Sam hadn't really intended to take things very far tonight, not even this far, which Sam knew wasn't very at all. He'd just thought maybe a little kissing, a little touching over the clothes, the kind of things they usually did. But now, with Billy over him, and their hands on each other's skin, and bodies moulded together, pressing their trapped dicks against each other, and _rubbing_… well, now his arousal was intense, his belly felt coiled tight, and his balls were throbbing. He really needed to come.

And so he did.

He groaned into Billy's mouth and jerked up a couple of times quickly, bending his knees and placing his feet flat on the bed for better leverage, and spilled, pleasure and relief flooding him. A warm wet patch started to form at the front of his pants, and he knew he was turning a deep shade of red, flush starting at his hairline and working down his face, over his neck to his shoulders, because he could feel the heat of it.

"Sorry," he whispered, embarrassed, into Billy's ear, so quiet that he thought he might not have heard.

But Billy kissed Sam's neck, mouth open wide and messy, tongue licking the sweat off his skin, before lifting his mouth to Sam ear, and whispering back, "S'okay." And Sam could tell by his tone that he was amused, which would have pissed him off, except… "Me, too."

And Sam smiled.

***

Dean got home at exactly seven minutes after eight, if the glowing neon blue display on their old top-loading VCR had managed to keep the right time that day, which Dean wasn't exactly counting on. But it must have been around that time, because he'd come straight back after he'd dropped Abby off at work.

Nights around the house, when Dad wasn't there, and Sam and Dean were both home, alone, were… uncomfortable. The boys mostly just kept to themselves, only really talking to each other when they had to. Sam spent a lot of time studying, and Dean did a whole lot of nothing, but sometimes they'd be working on research together for Dad, and they'd start talking about it, arguing over it, bouncing ideas back and forth, and those times were pretty damn good.

They called each other idiots, and smiled, and even laughed and shared boxes of mac and cheese. A couple of times, Dean even let Sam have a beer or two, and it was like things used to be, before Sam started to become increasingly sexually aware, and things got weird.

But then Sam would look at him, that way that he did when Dean knew that all Sam was thinking about was getting close to him, kissing him or telling him how much he loved him or something bitchy like that, and then Dean would cough and look away, and casually ask about Billy. Of course, then Sam's face would darken, and the tension would be back, and it was usually a couple of days before they spoke again.

Tonight, Dean was planning on talking to Sam. Not about anything girly, not even really about anything at all, just… talking. Maybe play some Monopoly. Sam used to love that when he was kid, even though Dean would always kick his ass. Sometimes Dean secretly let him win though, and whenever he did, the glow of pride and happiness on Sam's face was well worth the teasing he had to put up with for the next week or so.

So yeah. Dean wanted to do something that reminded them both that they were brothers, and that they loved each other, and that things didn't have to be weird just because Sam was getting older (and just because he wanted to have sex with Dean). They were still them, and they always would be.

He took off his coat and boots, leaving them in a messy pile by the door, and walked across the kitchen and through the hall to their bedroom. He could hear Sam's shitty new CD playing through the half-open door, so he knew he was in there. He placed his hand on the door and swung it all the way open, opening his mouth to tell Sammy he was home, but what he saw made the words catch and fizzle out in the back of his throat.

He froze, blinked slowly, but didn't look away, _couldn't_ look away, not for several seconds at least. He was slammed with the sight of Billy's bare back (and he could tell it was Billy because he didn't often see people with hair that bright blond), Sam's bare arms wrapped around him, as he heard them groan, watched them kiss, watched how Billy's hips moved under the covers and between Sam's legs. And he _did_ watch. Not for long, but he didn't look away either right away, like he should have. And he felt a quick, sharp stab of jealousy, he wasn't even going to try to deny it, but mostly… it was just really fuckin' beautiful.

He could see Sam's face when he twisted it to the side between kisses, and he looked happy. Course he fuckin' did, he was getting laid, but it was more than just that. He could finally touch someone, and someone was touching him. This was exactly what he'd wanted for Sam, what Sam had wanted, and he was happy for him.

Dean considered his own sex life for a moment, and he didn't think he'd ever actually done it with someone he really cared about. He had fun, there was no getting around that, but when he compared all his experience to what he was watching now, it was actually kind of sad. Sam was one lucky son of a bitch that his first time got to be with someone that meant something, someone he knew and liked and trusted.

And Dean was pretty sure it _was_ their first time, but even if they had done it before, all that sissy crap he'd been thinking would still have been true. Dean was feeling pretty damn thankful to Dad right now that he'd let them stick around here for a while.

The only thing that soured seeing this, watching this (and yeah, any second now he was gonna look away, honest he was) for him, was that he knew Sam wouldn't talk to him about it.

Wouldn't drink a glass of orange juice in one gulp tomorrow morning, and sit down at the table with Dean, and say, 'Dude, I totally got laid last night, and it was awesome,' around a mouthful of Cocoa Pebbles, like Dean had done with Sammy after his first time.

Of course, Sam had only been ten then, and Dad had smacked Dean on the back of the head and told him to 'shut the Goddamn hell up and eat your breakfast'.

Shit, he missed Sammy, but at least it was good that he had this, had Billy, friends, connections.

Dean saw Billy's movements get faster, heard twin sets of breathy moans get louder and heard quiet, wordless babble directed into mouths get more meaningless, and he smiled, lowered his head, and walked away. Monopoly could wait for another night.

***

Sam didn't hear the front door to the house open and close, when Dean got home. Didn't notice a shadow in his bedroom doorway while Dean stood for a few seconds, and watched him come in his pants, writhing against Billy. Didn't hear the rattle of glass bottles on wire racks, when Dean snagged a beer from the fridge. And he didn't notice the faint glow of the muted television lighting up the hallway.

But a couple of hours later, after he and Billy had gotten cleaned up and dressed, and had played six rounds of Battleship, and Sam had walked Billy to the door and told him goodnight, he turned and saw Dean. He was sitting on the couch, watching the still silent television, and when Sam took a couple of steps in the vague direction of both the living room, and the hall to the bedroom, Dean looked up at him, offered him an awkward half-smile, and clicked the volume on, turning his attention back to whatever he'd been watching.

And Sam knew Dean must have seen. Funny, that didn't make him feel as good as he thought it would, at the beginning of the night.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 8 – Sam/Dean, Dean/OFC, Sam/OMC. This time it's Dean who wants to talk, but Sam's too busy being jealous and mixed up, and the brothers grow further apart.

***

When Sam woke up in the morning, he was alone in the bedroom, but Dean's bed looked slept-in, the covers twisted and the pillow lying randomly in the middle. His brother had probably come to bed after he'd fallen asleep, and gotten up early. Sam's heart sank a little at the evidence of Dean trying harder than usual to avoid him after what had happened last night, but at least it looked like Dean had slept in the bedroom, instead of on the couch, or in Dad's room.

Sam thought it was odd that neither he nor Dean ever did that, sleep in Dad's room. It wasn't not like John was around much, so one of them could easily move in there, and just double up on the rare nights he slept in the house. They didn't though, and Sam never said anything about it, thankful that Dean didn't either. They might not be talking very much these days, but Sam still had trouble sleeping on the very rare nights that Dean spent away with Dad. No matter what else was going on, having Dean in the next bed made everything just a little bit better.

He supposed he was going to have to talk to Dean about Billy, not that he was really looking forward to it. He had no idea what he was going to say, no idea what there even _was_ to say about it, but Dean had seen them fooling around twice now, not to mention all the other times they hadn't been getting off that Billy had been hanging around, and this whole _not_ talking about it thing was only making the whole 'Sam has a boyfriend' thing an even bigger deal.

It shouldn't be. It should be normal. That's what he'd wanted. Normal school life, normal social life, 100% monster-free. Okay, so maybe 80% monster-free. He still did research for Dad, and he still had work-outs and target practice, and slept with salt under his pillow, but it was mostly normal.

So if he said something to Dean, not even like a talk or anything, just a mention, like 'Hey Dean, could you pick me up at my boyfriend's house tonight?', or 'I have a date with Billy, do you mind getting out of the house for a while later?', then it would be out, and Sam would have at least said _something_, and some of the weird tension might be gone.

Of course, those were two pretty lame-ass examples of things he might say, but still, the idea seemed solid enough. Dean could take it from there, grin at him, maybe wink, call him a stud or a dog or something crass like that, and Sam could tell him to shut up, and they'd feel like Dean and Sam again, even if only for that short exchange.

But it would be something, and maybe it would help. So, they needed to talk. Only he had no idea what to say.

He sighed and got out of bed, scratching his stomach idly just under his belly button as he yawned and stretched a hand over his head. Piss first, then breakfast. They didn't really have much in the house, but there might be some pop-tarts left in the back of the cupboard. Sam hated pop-tarts.

He made a face and went about the first part of his morning ritual, turning right out of his bedroom door and down the short hall to the bathroom at the end. He aimed at the toilet and waited a few seconds for his dick to soften enough to allow him to pee, and shook himself off when he was finished, quickly washing his hands and swishing some water around in his mouth before heading to the kitchen.

And there was Dean, sitting at one of the kitchen chairs with his bare feet up on the table, shirtless, with his pyjama pants riding up his legs so that the meaty line of his calf muscles was half visible. Sam swallowed, hard, as his morning wood make a sudden reappearance.

The television was on in the living room, and Dean was watching it while he ate. Toast and eggs and sausage, a glass each of orange juice and milk sitting in front of him on the table. What the hell? Last night there had been practically nothing in the fridge.

"Mornin'" Dean greeted, looking at Sam briefly before he turned back to the television. It came out muffled, because he had a mouthful of food, and it only made Sam's stomach grumble.

"Hey," Sam answered, sounding grumpy, even though that wasn't how he meant it to come out. "What are you eating?" he asked, even though he could see damn well what Dean was eating. It was just something to say. And also, kind of a bitchy way of complaining that _he_ wasn't eating it as well.

Dean shrugged. "Nothin' to eat in this shithole, so I got up early and went to the store."

"You cooked?" Sam asked, surprised.

Dean snorted and shook his head, wolfing down another bite of his breakfast. "Funny," he said. "Nah, just one of those microwave breakfast things. It's disgusting. Be thankful I didn't get one for you."

Sam frowned and his stomach complained again, but this time it was as much from disappointment as it was hunger. Dean had gone out and picked up something for himself, and hadn't even thought about Sam. That was… shitty. Made Sam feel shitty.

"Fuck, Sam," Dean sighed. "No need to cry about it." Sam's face turned hard at that, and he was about to tell Dean to fuck off, when his brother grinned, picked up a breakfast sausage and bit it in half. "Got you some waffles. They're in the freezer," he said, still not looking at him, and smiling as he chewed.

Sam didn't bother thanking Dean as he walked over to the fridge and opened the freezer, because yeah, he'd done a pretty awesome thing – and dude Blueberry Eggo's! They were Sam's favourite! – but he'd been a jerk about it. He'd eat them, might even enjoy them, but he wasn't going to let Dean know that.

"Whatever," he mumbled, and took the package out, opening it and sliding two of the waffles into the toaster.

"Maple syrup's in the fridge," Dean told him, not turning his head behind him to look at Sam while he spoke. "The real stuff."

Sam got out a plate to put the waffles on and opened the fridge, and sure enough, there on the top shelf next to the milk, juice and beer, and above some apples, berries, cheese, and a package of bologna, sat a bottle of real maple syrup. God, he loved Dean.

He smiled as he heard the toaster pop, and finished his plate of with a drizzle of syrup and a few berries, before filling a glass with orange juice and bringing it all to the table. He took a few bites in silence, carefully not looking at Dean.

He was making happy noises as he chewed though, and he knew he shouldn't get so excited over a breakfast that had been frozen and then heated up in a toaster, but he couldn't help it.

Dean finished his food and got up to dump the dirty plate in the sink before grabbing an apple from the fridge, and he smirked at Sam when he sat back down, and told him, "You're welcome."

The next ten minutes passed in silence, and it wasn't entirely uncomfortable. As Sam ate, and watched Dean eat, he thought. And mostly watched. Dean opening his mouth wide, teeth closing down over the bright red apple, biting through it with delicious sounding crunches and wiping some of the juice off his chin with his thumb before sticking it in his mouth and sucking it off…

Wait, what was he thinking about again? Right. Billy. Or rather, what he was going to say to Dean about Billy. He was still staring at Dean after the apple was only a skinny core, held between Dean's thumb and finger, and when he reached his hand out blindly to his own plate to grab another berry, he came up empty, and realised he'd finished his breakfast as well.

He let out a breath and pushed his plate away, getting ready to talk, even though he still didn't know what he was going to say. He wasn't even sure that Dean would be listening to him if he did talk, because he was still looking at the television, seeming pretty engrossed in 'The Smurfs'.

"Sam…" Dean said, surprising him, and put his apple core down on the table, but continued to stare into the living room. Sam blinked and looked up at Dean, but didn't say anything. "You're being careful, right?"

Sam frowned, slightly confused, and noticed Dean's throat work around a dry swallow as he spun the apple around on the table, needing something to do with his fingers. He was obviously uncomfortable about whatever he was talking about. Being careful? What? He didn't answer for several seconds, not knowing what the answer was, because he didn't even know what the question was, and then Dean finally turned to look at him.

And then he knew. Saw it in Dean's eyes, the concern, the pride, the undeniable hurt (though Sam honestly couldn't think where that feeling had come from), and Sam knew. Dean thought that he and Billy were having sex. Thought they'd had sex last night.

Shit, of course he did. He and Billy had been topless, and under the covers, with Billy moving over him, so what the fuck else was Dean supposed to think they had been doing? This _sucked_. He was in no mood to correct Dean, because then he'd have to go into detail about what they _had_ been doing, go into detail about their relationship, and he really wanted to avoid that with Dean.

But having Dean think… shit, it made him feel terrible. Angry, because it wasn't the truth, and he knew Dean, and Dean would think that if Sam was in a sexual relationship, had someone stable and steady that he was fucking, then Dean would be off the hook, and he would be free to date whoever he wanted, without fear of hurting Sam anymore.

And it wasn't like that. Wasn't like that at all. Sam was still lonely, still not able to connect, and Dean was still the only one. Dean needed to see that, so he'd still know that he needed to be there.

He felt sorry, because it was like he was lying to Dean. Dean thought something that wasn't true, and it had upset him, Sam was sure he'd seen something unsettled on Dean's face when he'd asked that question, and that hurt was Sam's fault.

And he felt guilty. Because even though he wasn't sleeping with Billy, Dean thought he was, and with his actions and words and unwavering devotion, Sam had promised Dean that it would be him. And Dean thought he'd betrayed that.

Not that Dean _wanted_ that. Dean had practically begged him to find someone else for that, but Sam couldn't help the way he felt.

Sam should have said something, told Dean he was wrong, that they weren't having sex. Hell, they'd only even jerked each other off three times. Three times, in two months, though Sam jerked himself off a lot, and when he did, he still mostly thought about Dean.

He should have told him that (except maybe that last bit), but he didn't.

He got up from the table without saying a word, and went into their father's bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

***

For the next couple of days, predictably, Sam avoided Dean. And Dean felt like shit. He hadn't been trying to make Sam uncomfortable by bringing up his relationship with Billy, by bringing up the sex they were having. He'd honestly only been concerned, and wanted to make sure Sam was taking care of himself, and to let him know that Dean was there, if he ever had any questions, or needed to talk about anything.

Shit, when Dean had started having sex, all John had done was reach into the paper bag from his latest shopping trip, and toss a box of condoms at him with an uncomfortable grunt. He knew Sam wouldn't even get that out of their dad, because just about everything else in Sam's upbringing had been Dean's responsibility, and this was probably not going to be an exception.

Apparently, Sam had taken Dean's concern the wrong way, or maybe they were just too far apart lately for him to feel comfortable talking to Dean about things. And Dean had tried, more than once after that. He waited almost a week before bringing it up again, and when he did, he tried to make it casual, light, not like a big brother's lecture, but just like a friend, who would be there if Sam needed him, but that didn't work either.

If Sam and he could just say something to each other about it, if Sam could tell Dean that he was happy, and Dean could say he was happy for him, then maybe things between them could start to go back. Dean really, really needed that. Needed Sam.

***

He thought he'd had the perfect opening for discussion, or at least acknowledgment, when he'd come home from work a few days ago to find Sam so engrossed in reading a magazine that he hadn't even noticed Dean's arrival until Dean was standing behind the couch Sam was sitting on, and leaning over his shoulder, looking down at what Sam was reading.

Well, _reading_ might have been a stretch, because no matter what people claimed, nobody ever looked at porn magazines for the articles, though if anybody was going to, it would be his little brother. Freak.

Sam had started, and jerked his head up, and when he'd seen Dean's sly grin he'd slammed the magazine shut and put it front cover down on the couch next to him, resting his hand over it in a vain attempt at modesty. Dean had chuckled and moved around the couch to sit down next to Sam, reaching over him to pick up the magazine, ignoring Sam's protests of "Hey!" and "Fuck off!" and "That's none of your business."

In retrospect he probably should have given his brother whatever privacy he needed, but hell, he never had in the past, and picking on Sam in fun just seemed so natural that he hadn't realised that Sam was truly upset at first.

Dean had started to flip through the pages while Sam sat red-faced beside him, fingers clenching on his thighs and staring down at his knees. It turned out to be gay porn, which Dean hadn't noticed at first, because Sam had just been looking at a picture of a naked man, solo, taking care of himself, but really he should have known. What kind of magazine designed for straight men would bother taking up a full page on just a dude jerking off?

That made things a tad uncomfortable for Dean, but hell, it wasn't like they both didn't like dick, at least sometimes, so he went with it. He flipped a few pages until he found something he liked, one man lying on his back on a bed, with another between his legs, sucking his cock and sticking four fingers up his ass.

The guy doing the sucking had his face mostly hidden, but the other guy was _hot_. His eyes were closed and his head was thrown back, his mouth half open and his face twisted in agonised pleasure. Intellectually, Dean knew he was only acting, but _fuck_ it made him a little hard, looking at it.

"That right there," he said, shifting his hips so his pants put a little less pressure on his rising dick, and smiled appreciatively, flicking the glossy page with his middle finger. He angled it toward Sam, so his little brother could see what he was talking about. "That's fun."

Sam snuck a glance at the page and made a non-committal sort of sound, before turning his head and staring at the television screen. It wasn't even on.

Shit.

This obviously wasn't working. All he was trying to do here was to let Sam know that it was okay. It had been nearly two weeks since Sam and Billy had first had sex, and Sam hadn't said a single thing about it. Dean just wanted him to know that he could, that it was nothing to be ashamed of, or feel awkward about.

It was so fucking okay, that Dean wanted to take Sam out and buy him a beer or something, or – and he was pretty sure he must have been having a stroke to come up with this one – let him take the Impala for a drive. Something. Anything.

Hell, it was better than okay, it was awesome. Sam had somebody, like he'd always wanted, and if they were having sex, that was even better, because if you asked Dean, sex was… well, it was pretty fucking great, and he just wanted Sam to know that.

"Ever tried that?" Dean asked, feeling his own face turn red, because fuck, he was terrible at shit like this.

"God, Dean," Sam snarled, bunching up his face and getting up off the couch, leaving Dean to look through the rest of the magazine on his own, and disappeared into their bedroom. Okay, so that could have gone better.

He didn't slam the door behind him, didn't even close it, and it was an effort on Sam's part that Dean was grateful for. He still felt shut out, ignored and replaced, but he supposed that was something that everyone went through, when the person you were raising started to grow up.

It didn't mean he had to like it.

***

Sam was out with Billy. He'd told Dean so, specifically not using the word 'date', and leaving everything kind of vague, like Dean hadn't walked in on them having sex, twice, and didn't know that the kid was Sam's boyfriend. It was getting really fuckin' annoying, but Dean had learned to just let it be if that was what Sam wanted, and not try to push.

It was almost May, and that meant they only had a little over a month left before the school year was over for Sammy, and they'd be leaving this town, and Dean figured that maybe Sam didn't want to talk about something that he knew couldn't last long anyway, so Dean decided to just shut his mouth and try to pretend that everything was fine.

And really, why shouldn't it have been? Dean had a girlfriend (okay, not really, but close enough), Sam had a boyfriend, and they were both happy, even it was transitory.

Sam had told Dean that he and Billy were going down to the arcade on Charles Street, because when Sam had just said 'out', Dean didn't accept that as a destination, and demanded more details. He might have been trying to play it cool, but he was still Sam's big brother, and he needed to know where he was, always, just in case.

Dean nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a tenner and stuffing it into Sam's hand.

"Change it for quarters, little brother," he told him, with a smile. "And maybe stick to Pacman and Space Invaders. Pinball if you're feeling brave. Some of those games can get pretty tricky, and you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself in front of your sweetie."

"Fuck you," Sam shot back, but stuffed the ten dollar bill into his pocket anyway. He looked up at Dean and almost managed a smile. "Thanks."

"No problem, Sammy," Dean said, puffing up his chest, and smirking his lips, cool as the proverbial cucumber, and trying not to do or say anything particularly offensive now that Sam had actually looked him in the eye, like they might have been friends once upon a time, and said something half nice. "Call me if you need a ride home."

"No thanks," Sam said, grabbing the hem of his jacket and pulling it down, a nervous gesture that Dean tried to ignore, because the idea of Sammy being nervous around him made him kind of queasy. "Billy's big sister is going out with her friends to see a movie around the corner. Said she'd pick us up after, and take us home."

Dean perked up at the mention of Billy having an older sister, someone with his delicate good looks, and biting personality, someone older and available, with the traits that made Billy so desirable… perhaps those cheekbones ran in the family. His eyebrows rose, and his lips pursed in a considering manner, and Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, probably knowing exactly what Dean was thinking about, but said nothing on it.

Dean tilted his head and thought about asking if Sam could introduce them, but decided against it. Sam would probably freak out, and besides, he kind of had someone. And even though it wasn't serious, or exclusive, it was still someone, and it felt… awesome.

"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed, even though the thought of Sam going out, where Dean couldn't keep an eye on him, and getting a lift home with someone he'd never met, made him a little uneasy, he recognised that he was feeling a bit overprotective. He decided not to press, or make a big deal, and just be happy that Sam was enjoying himself.

He nodded and his face softened, and he reached out a hand to cup the side of Sam's cheek lightly, a pretty huge gesture since they hadn't actually touched in a while, and it was… kinda gay. He pulled his hand back a few centimetres and slapped him, lightly, three times across the jaw. There, that was better. Much more manly. "Have fun, Sammy. I'll see you later."

Sam pulled his face away, scrunching it up and shooting Dean a vaguely annoyed look. "Yeah, don't wait up," he grumbled, and turned, walking to the door.

"Hey!" Dean called, when Sam had opened the front door and slipped through it, already halfway down the front walk. Sam stopped and turned, looking back at him. "When are you coming home?"

"When I feel like it?" Sam offered, and it was sort of cute how he'd intended it to come across like a statement.

"Eleven o'clock," Dean said, and all traces of humour were gone from his face and voice. "I'm not kidding, Sam. One minute later, I'm coming looking for you."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned. "Fine," he said, back to Dean as he walked. "Don't expect me before that."

Dean watched him go and smiled. That was just fine by him. That would give him a good three hours with Abby, if she was available. And if not, there was a bar nearby, where Dean wouldn't have any kind of problem meeting someone.

***

As it turned out, Abby was free, and more than happy to come over to see Dean. He volunteered to pick her up, even though she lived less than two blocks away, and could have made the walk in under five minutes, but Dean was feeling particularly gallant.

He stopped on the way back at the liquor mart, for a bottle of wine, and then for some Chinese food, and when they got back to his place, he actually went to the trouble of lighting a couple of the candles that Sam had insisted on having. Because they smelled good, and sometimes, with two (sometimes three) men, living alone in a house, cleaning wasn't a priority, and things could get a bit ripe.

Of course, covering up the smell was only a bonus, because what Dean was really thinking about was making a show of romanticism for the girl. Shit this whole taking so long to have sex thing was a pain in the ass. It was turning the sex into a way bigger deal that either of them really thought it was, and he figured it wouldn't kill him to put in that little bit of extra effort.

It worked, not that he would have needed anything special to get into Abby's pants. He'd been as good as there a couple of weeks ago, when Sam had come home and things had stopped abruptly, and he and Abby both had made no secret of the fact that they wanted to finish that little adventure as soon as possible.

A bottle of shiraz and two cartons of Shanghai noodles later, they were horizontal on the couch, Dean's shirt off and Abby's skirt hiked up around her waist, legs tangled together while Dean ground his entire body down onto hers, kissing across her neck and chin and lips.

"Fuck, Abby," Dean breathed into her ear, getting his hands on the hem of her t-shit, bunching it in his fists. The cotton of it was soft. So soft that it almost eclipsed the feel of her skin under his hands, and he wondered how that was possible, as he pulled it upward, shifting back to give himself enough space to rid her of the garment, tossing it to the floor next to the couch. He bent his head forward to take one of her eager nipples into his mouth through the fabric of her bra, sucked and bit and pulled back panting. "Shit yeah."

"Mmmm," Abby agreed, breathy and aroused. "Yeah." She bucked up against Dean, making it clear exactly what she wanted, ran her hands over his back, fingers gliding over the muscles beneath his skin, kneading softly and resting on his ass, pushing, pushing.

"Baby," Dean said, feeling dizzy with want, and almost crazy. It had been months, and they'd never fucked before, not for lack of trying, and for some reason he felt… nervous. Which was crazy, because he'd done this plenty. Was great at it. Had no reason not to be fully confident. Just the idea of having waited so long made it all seem like something more than it really was.

"Gonna fuck me or what, stud?" Abby asked, lips curled up in a parody of a grin, tongue slipping out to lick across her teeth lightly. "Been waiting a long time for this."

Dean sucked in a gasp and pushed his hips against hers one last time before he pulled back enough to unfasten his pants, and shimmy them down, kick them off, landing them over the side of the couch. He could tell she was posturing, trying to make out like she wasn't as unsure, or needy, as she was. He could tell, because he was getting to know her very well, and he knew what she was like when she actually _was_ confident, and it wasn't even remotely close to crude and slutty.

And he also knew, because he felt the same way. He wanted her. So fucking badly. And he didn't want to make an ass of himself by telling her how much, just like she didn't.

It was a damn good thing they weren't close enough to care, to call each other on it.

"Damn right I am, sweetheart," Dean cooed, and leaned over, scrambling in the drawer of the coffee table for one of the few stay condoms he'd put there for Sam, after he'd caught him with the magazine, and he was surprised to find that they were all still there. Funny, based on what he'd seen so far of Sam and Billy, he would have expected them to have gone through at least four condoms in the past week. He hoped that meant that they just weren't having sex, and not that they weren't using protection.

He breathed out a grateful sigh when his fingers gripped the foil packet and kneeled up, opening up the package and sliding the latex down over his hard cock, before he covered Abby's body with his own again. This time though, he didn't bother with any preliminaries, because they'd been there before, and for much too long.

As his legs straightened out, and he sunk down, he aimed his cock squarely between her folds and pushed in, deep and slow, and they both moaned needy, satisfied moans, until he was fully inside, and pressed flush against her.

"Bout time, Dean," Abby teased on a grin, wrapping her legs tight around his hips. "Thought I was gonna have to buy you a ring or something."

Dean scowled, feeling a little like his masculinity was being called into question, because it certainly wasn't his fault that they'd had to wait this long. Hell, he'd wanted to do this the first time they met, and she turned him down with a raised eyebrow and a sexy little shake of her head.

He was all man, baby, and pounded into her harder. She screamed, a quiet scream granted, but still a scream, and Dean it again, and again. With every hard shove Abby held him tighter, moaned loader, spread her legs wider.

Oh, _hell_ yeah. Fuck, he was gonna be sorry to say goodbye to Abby when they moved. She was ten kinds of awesome, and Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to settle for random fucks with chicks with no personalities and questionable looks after this girl.

Yeah, fine, so he probably would, but still, he'd much prefer this. She was warm and tight around his cock, she made the sweetest little sounds, and held him perfectly against her taut body, but most importantly… he liked her. Yeah, it was gonna suck when this was over.

But in the mean time…

He pressed his mouth to hers again in a bruising kiss, which she returned enthusiastically, and thrust inside her, setting up a steady pace and she matched it. They rocked against each other, getting closer and closer, chasing ecstasy, and Dean closed his eyes and hummed, bit his lower lip when she slid a hand over him and settle a finger down the crack of his ass, pushing inside just the tiniest bit. Dean shivered and he just barely managed to bring one of his hands down to where they where joined, flicking his thumb one, twice, commandingly over Abby's clit, before he lost control, and hammered into her quicker, harder, and came on a strangled cry.

Luckily, she did too, because Dean liked to pride himself on getting his partners off hard, and when he felt her muscles contract and flutter around his spurting cock be breathed a mental sigh of relief, and then a real, physical sigh when he collapsed against her, both of them breathing hard, trading sloppy kisses, and skidding their hands across friction-warmed skin.

Being here with Abby, knowing Sam was somewhere, happy, with Billy… oh yeah. He could really get used to living like this, but that would just make it too hard to leave, so he didn't bother.

***

It wasn't very late when Sam got home that night, long before ten o'clock, because the movie Billy's sister went to didn't end up being very long, and she hadn't wanted to hang around at the arcade afterward with her little brother and his boyfriend. Billy had asked if he wanted to go to his place for a while, but Sam declined. He didn't want to have to call Dean for a ride later, and he knew Dean would kick his ass for walking home by himself that late at night.

Also, he thought it might not totally suck if Dean was around, and maybe they could manage to have a conversation that wasn't completely awkward or frustrating, maybe watch some television, or hell, maybe Dad had called with some research they could work on together.

It had been a while, and he was really starting to miss Dean. Especially the closer it came to the end of the school year, when he'd have to leave Billy and the rest of his friends behind, and it would be just him and Dean again. And the thought of that, with the way things currently were between the two of them, made him feel so lonely and desolate that he felt vaguely nauseous.

Because at least now, when he had other people to occupy his thoughts and his time, he could sort of, almost, if he squinted, pretend that Dean wasn't the only thing that mattered to him.

Hell, maybe when they moved on, and Dean had gotten a taste of what it was like to have to leave someone he actually cared about (not that Sam was willing to admit that his brother actually cared about Abby, because that still stung just a little too much) he'd forget about his whole 'we're brothers and it's wrong' thing, and realise that when it came down to it, neither of them really had any other choices.

Not that Sam was counting on that, not really, because Dean wasn't as smart as he was, and Sam figured it probably wouldn't be that easy. Sam was smart. So smart, in fact, that even though he was young and inexperienced, and had been raised so as to maximize his emotional fucked-upedness, he was starting to realise (thanks to Billy) that it was possible to care about someone other than his brother the way that he did.

And since he was a whole hell of a lot more self-aware than his dick brother gave him credit for, he even realised that given the chance, if his family decided to stay put, even beyond the summer, if they were anything resembling normal, even in the slightest, that Sam might actually prefer to be with Billy.

He still loved Dean, he still _wanted_ Dean, he still shivered when Dean accidentally got too close, and his chest still warmed and tightened whenever Dean touched him on purpose. But the bottom line was, Dean didn't want him back and Billy did. Billy made him feel good, made him feel normal, and it was an incredibly addictive feeling. Almost as addictive as Dean's laugh, or smirk, or honest smile and kind eyes when Sam had done something to make him happy.

So yeah, Sam still really had no idea what he ultimately wanted, or what he could ultimately have, but for tonight at least, he was just going to try spend a little with his brother, and pretend that they were actually friends, like they used to be.

So, of course, because the universe was out to get him, and Dean, and everybody named Winchester, after he'd been dropped off, and kissed Billy goodnight, long and hard in the backseat of his sister's car, he came up the walk to his house, and opened his front door, to see Dean screwing his girlfriend.

Son of a bitch.

Dean was screwing his freakin' girlfriend.

On the living room sofa, with nothing obscuring the view from the front door but an empty bottle of wine, and some take-out containers from _Chen's Palace_ spread out over the coffee table.

Perfect.

"Shit, yes baby," Dean moaned, when Sam saw one of Abby's (at least he thought it was Abby, because he hadn't seen Dean with anyone else since they'd been in Ann Arbor, but to be fair, he couldn't be sure; this was Dean after all) hand's slip down over Dean's ass, one of her fingers sliding sure and knowing between his cheeks as he jerked his hips forward and back between her spread legs.

Sam wasn't sure if the finger had made it all the way inside, but his imagination had weighed in, and his cock, almost hard in his pants already, sure as hell seemed to agree. He wondered if Abby knew his brother was half gay, or if all guys liked that kind of thing. He really couldn't say, because for one, he was half gay himself, and two, he'd never tried that, so he couldn't say if he'd like it or not.

But as far as his body was concerned, with his suddenly rapid heartbeat and the warmth spreading over his skin and the sharp, tight knot of excitement low in his abdomen, he sure as hell liked the idea of it happening to Dean.

And okay, maybe seeing Dean this way with someone else made him want to throw up a little bit, hell _thinking_ about it made him want to throw up a little bit, but just like the last time he'd accidentally seen him with a girl, he couldn't look away. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look away, but this was the closest he figured he was ever going to get to experiencing what Dean was like in the throes of carnal pleasure.

And, just like the last time, he was beautiful. Sam could see his face, the side of it anyway, since the couch wasn't exactly facing the door, and his eyes were screwed tight shut, and he was biting his bottom lip. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and one of his hands was in Abby's hair, the other buried somewhere between their bodies, and Sam was so hard it hurt.

He let out a soft whine, and then held his breath, trying to keep quiet, but the two on the couch were so caught up in each other that they didn't notice him, and he was both thankful and pissed off. He wanted to cross the room and punch Dean in the face for doing this, for letting Sam see it, because even though he knew Dean fucked people, that Dean made no secret of that, Dean knew that Sam was in love with him, and he had no right to be so insensitive and rub Sam's nose in it, make him watch.

He wasn't, and Sam knew that, because, yeah, he was smart, and he knew Dean hadn't planned for Sam to get home early and see this. Not like Sam had done with Billy a while back. So even if Dean had, Sam would deserve it.

And even more than he wanted to punch Dean, Sam wanted to touch himself. Wanted to open his pants and take his cock out, jerk it hard and fast as his brother fucked, and imagine it was him that Dean was fucking, imagine it was him with a finger inside Dean's ass, him that Dean was panting against, and randomly licking and kissing and telling how amazing it was.

But he didn't, because if Dean turned around, or Abby changed the angle of her head, they'd see him, and if he was just standing there it could easily be explained that he'd just gotten in, and was about to turn away, but if he had his hard, red dick in his hand, that excuse wouldn't be nearly as convincing.

It wasn't long before Dean and Abby finished, groaning and breathing hard against each other, and watching how they were after was almost worse for Sam than watching them fuck. Because in the after, they looked… good. Happy. Like they cared about each other, maybe even loved each other, though Sam knew that Dean would never have told her so, even if it was true. Which he just couldn't fathom happening.

And though seeing that display of emotion between them didn't affect Sam's erection at all, it did send a rush of cold through his body that replaced the previous warmth, and he actually had to blink back a tear. But just the one, because he wasn't a girl, and he'd learned from Dean that men could cry, and one or two tears was sexy, but if they bawled and snotted, it was gross and lame.

Dean loved _him_. Dean _only_ loved him. And sure, he loved Dad, even loved Dad _more_, but that was different. At least Sam wanted it to be different, but the fact was, it probably wasn't different, and he knew that Dean, instead, was falling in love with some random girl he'd have to leave soon. Well fuck him.

Sam honestly thought about coughing, clearing his throat or even walking straight into the living room and sitting down on the chair opposite the couch to let Dean know that he was there, but he wasn't that much of an ass, and Abby didn't deserve that, so he turned, and quietly slipped back outside, locking the door behind him.

He slipped his key into his pocket and knocked on the door, loudly, probably too loudly, but he was in a nasty mood, and he didn't really give a shit.

"Dean!" he shouted through the red-painted wood. "Dean, are you home? I lost my key." That should have given them enough time to make themselves decent, and save them some embarrassment, and Sam was proud of himself for how maturely he was handling things. He was so cool. Right.

He'd just have to see how cool he stayed when Dean answered the door, and he had to face him.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

***

Chapter 9 - Sam/Dean, Dean/OFC. The boys argue, Sam fantasises, and Dean realises that Sam might actually mean it when he says he has feelings for him. Oh, and the boys argue. *sigh* Could this be taking any longer? I know it's been a long haul, but I swear, two more chapters to go, and then full on Wincest, baby!

AN: Sorry the chapters have been coming slower lately. I've been on vacation for a lot of this month, so I haven't been able to update much, but I'm back now and updates should get fairly regular again. Thanks for hangin' in there!

***

Dean opened the door about thirty seconds after Sam started knocking, still out of breath, and trying to smooth out his t-shirt, while Abby (and Sam could see for sure now that it was her) searched for something on the floor next to the couch (probably her underwear), and Sam's eyes were still watering. He sniffled just the tiniest bit, and tried to set his face, blinked back the inconvenient tears, and stared at his brother, chin raised.

"Hey," Dean said on a heavy breath, stepping back to let him come inside. He was obviously not thinking too clearly because if he was, he would have given Sam shit for losing his key, but as it was he just sort of stood around awkwardly while Abby shoved something (again, probably her underwear) into her purse, and blushed a deep shade of pink before she made up an excuse and gave Dean a quick kiss on the lips before disappearing out the door.

But not before Dean kissed her back, longer, and with a little more tongue, and slipped her enough money for a taxi. God, it was disgusting the way Dean acted around her. Sam was so jealous he could feel the pound and rush of blood through his body as he seethed.

"You're home early," Dean told him, seeming more calm than he had a moment ago. His breathing had even out, and he could actually look Sam in the eye now, and he swung past the fridge to grab a bottle of beer, and twisted off the top, taking it to the couch with him, where he sat down, and took a swing.

He raised an eyebrow at Sam, tilting his head and indicating that Sam could join him if he wanted. Sam didn't. Not right now.

"No, I'm not," Sam snarled, and knew that he should just shut the hell up. He _was_ home earlier than he'd planned, earlier than he knew Dean was expecting, and acting like a little bitch about what he'd seen wasn't going to make anything any better.

Of course, that didn't stop him. "You probably just lost track of time. That can happen when you're screwing chicks on the couch." Oh, shit. That was probably saying too much. It really would have just been better if Dean didn't know he'd watched, had just a little less proof that Sam was twisted and messed up and not even close to getting over Dean.

Dean coughed, a wet gurgly sound that no doubt spit some of his last sip of beer up into his mouth, where he swallowed it down again, more smoothly this time. "Dude," he said, shaking his head and taking another drink, probably to wash down the last one. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Okay, that was at least an opportunity to deny what a huge pervert he was. "You think I'm that stupid? The two of you were practically still getting dressed when you answered the door, Dean. What else was I supposed to think?"

Only he'd obviously hesitated too long, or his voice was too uncertain, because Dean was looking at him through narrowed eyes, his head turned slightly to the side, like he wasn't even close to believing him, let alone a little suspicious.

"You didn't lose your key, did you?" he asked, and Sam said nothing. He should have known that when the blood had started to drain from Dean's cock, that his brain would start to work a little better. "Sammy?"

Sam sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out the small gold-tinted item in question and tossed it down on the small catch-all table near the door. He still didn't say anything, but Dean didn't need him to.

"Fuck!" Dean cursed, but it wasn't loud or angry, more like a whisper directed at himself. He looked at Sam then, right into his eyes, and Sam fought to not look away, because he was feeling pretty damn stupid right now. Didn't Dean know that this was one of those things they didn't talk about? How many times had they walked in on each other, or accidentally caught a glimpse of the other having sex, or jerking off, or whatever? And had they ever before actually said anything about it? No! "You saw," he said, an accusation, and Sam ground his teeth together to stop from saying or doing anything stupid.

"You didn't see me come in, so I left again, tried to give you some time to… you know… get dressed and stuff." Sam would have felt stupid for how timid he sounded when he said that, like the only thing that mattered was what Dean thought about things, and like Sam needed to do whatever it took to make him happy, to not piss him off. And that was stupid, because Sam knew, he _knew_, that it was really the other way around. Dean was the one that would go out of his way to make Sam happy. That was the way it had always been, and Sam couldn't imagine it being any other way.

That was sort of what gave him hope. Made him reluctant to back down from the feelings and desires he had. Dean loved him enough to do anything, and if Sam wanted it badly enough, Dean would give it to him, he knew that. Dean would fight it, and they might end up hating each other for it, but Dean _would_ give in, if Sam was persistent enough.

"You saw," Dean said again, his voice harder this time. "How much?"

Sam looked down then, closed his eyes, looked back up at Dean. _Please don't hate me_. "Dean…"

"Shit, Sam… You _watched_?!"

Sam didn't say anything.

"Aw, for fucks sake, Sammy!"

Sam didn't know exactly what it was that pissed Dean off so much about that, but he was guessing that it probably wasn't that Dean was so into privacy. He wouldn't have had all the near-public sexual encounters he did, if he was worried about people seeing. No, it was probably that it was _Sam_ that had seen. And given the fact that Sam had seen before, had seen Dean naked, seen him getting blown, seen him fucking his own fist, totally out in the open, and all Dean had done was grunt and turn over on his bed so that he was facing the other direction, and kept on going, made it very clear that it was because of Sam's recent fixation, that Dean was getting kind of squeamish.

And that pissed Sam off.

"Well shit, Dean," Sam huffed, finally shucking off his shoes and coat and walking further into the house. "It's not like you've never watched me!"

"Dude," Dean said, incredulous, and shook his head. "When have I ever…"

"Are you kidding me?"

"You mean with your little boyfriend?"

Sam's scowl deepened, and he thought, for the first time, that he might actually be capable of punching his brother in anger.

"I didn't fucking watch, Sam," Dean denied, and he sounded angry, and a few minutes ago that would have been enough to make Sam back down and apologise.

"Could have fooled me, Dean. If you weren't watching, then what the hell was the stupid attempt at the 'are you being safe?' speech all about?"

"I wasn't fucking watching you!" Dean said again, his voiced raised now, free hand rubbing over his thigh, that nervous tick Sam had noticed a while ago, but Dean hardly ever let slip. "I was just trying to go to bed, and you were getting your ass tapped with the door open!"

Sam bit down on the urge to correct Dean, to tell him they hadn't actually been having sex, but it was really none of his business, and there was a part of him, a very large part, that wanted Dean to think he _had_ gotten fucked.

"Well _you_ were doing it in the middle of the living room, Dean!" Sam countered. "It's not exactly like I had a choice. I came in and you were _right there_. You knew I was in the bedroom, _both times_, and you looked anyway."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes briefly, and Sam cringed outwardly, but he managed to pull himself back together before Dean looked back at him. "I wasn't watching, Sam," he said, completely and totally earnest, and Sam knew that he hadn't been. Whatever he'd seen had been accidental, and he hadn't taken the opportunity to see more, hadn't gotten off on it. Not like Sam.

"I know you kind of wish I was, because it would mean… fuck, I don't know. That I was interested or something. In… you, in… that. But I wasn't, and I'm not. Sam, you gotta get over this." Dean looked so serious, so pleading, like it was killing him to be this harsh, but he didn't have a choice, because he really, really didn't want Sam the same way Sam wanted Dean.

Sam sucked in a deep, steadying breath, his eyes locked on Dean's, and let it out slowly. "I don't want to get over it," he whispered, and they stared at each other for several painful seconds after that, both of them apparently having nothing else to say. Sam eventually looked away, and walked passed the couch and out of the living room, slipping into their bedroom, and closing the door behind him loudly enough for Dean to hear.

Dean would know that he wanted to be left alone at the moment, not that he thought Dean was really wanting to spend any time with him just now. He'd probably sleep in Dad's room, or on the couch. The couch he'd just had sex on. Fuck.

And Sam was still hard. Swell.

It figured that arguing with Dean about his perversions wasn't enough to get his dick to forget about the sight and sounds of his brother fucking.

Sam sighed and stripped out of his clothes, not bothering to put on any pyjamas, just planning to sleep in his boxers, and flopped down onto his bed, eyeing his erection with some annoyance. It wasn't going to go away for a while, and it was going to be uncomfortable to go to sleep like that, so he closed his eyes and slipped his hand under the waistband of his shorts.

His eyelids fluttered and he tensed in pleasure and hitched in a sharp breath before letting out a low moan when he curled his fingers around his shaft. He used his free hand to slide his underwear down and out of the way, to give himself more room to work. Inevitably, now that he'd started, now that he'd decided he'd better do this and get it over with, he didn't want to just get it over with.

He wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to think about Dean, with Abby, with every other girl or guy he'd seen him with, and he did. It pissed him off, and it turned him on, and his skin burned all over, and as he stroked faster, and his groans got louder, their faces faded, and their bodies blurred, and it wasn't long before he was imagining that _he_ was the one with Dean.

It was _him_ on his knees in a parking lot, his brother's cock stuffed down his throat. It was _him_ that Dean had shoved up against a wall, with Dean's hand down his pants while he sucked on his neck. It was _him_ lying on the couch with his legs wrapped around Dean's back, writhing and keening. It was _him_ on Dean's bed, both of them naked and Dean gripping his hair and yanking his head back, biting over his chest and _him_ getting fucked so hard it hurt.

When Sam came, not even bothering to choke off his strangled cry, it was _him_ that Dean was kissing, soft and sweet, his mouth that Dean was coaxing open with his tongue, his own floppy hair that Dean was running his fingers through, and it was his body splayed out underneath Dean's as his brother gently fucked into him.

Sam's body relaxed instantly after his orgasm, and the stark contrast to how tightly he'd been coiled with need was a shock to his system. He hurt. He fucking ached all over, and he was panting, breathing so heavily that he thought he might hyperventilate. Everything was fuzzy, muted, and shit, Sam had thought about his brother countless times before when he'd done this, but this time… he didn't think he'd ever come so hard in his life.

Shit he was in so much trouble.

When his haze started to fade, and some other sensations besides the aching of his muscles and the overwhelming relief in his genitals started to come back, the first thing he noticed was the blaring noise of the television from the living room. _Terminator 2_, Sam thought, because he heard the ruckus of a fight, dotted with gunfire, and whoever had been living here before they had, had left the tape in the VCR. It was the only one they had.

What Dean was watching didn't make much of a difference though. What mattered was how loud it was, and with a sickening, heavy feeling, Sam knew that Dean had heard him, heard what he was doing, and had probably known exactly what he was thinking while he did it, and had turned on the movie so that he wouldn't have to listen.

Like he was disgusted by it.

Sam wanted to cry.

***

Dean left for work early the next morning. Not to avoid seeing Sam, not entirely, but Dad hadn't stopped by in over a week, and they were running short on cash, and his boss was usually pretty good about letting people put in a few extra hours.

Not seeing his brother was just a bonus. He'd been starting to think that Sammy was really getting over that crazy idea of his that the two of them could… shit, he wasn't even sure what it was exactly that Sam wanted from him. They hadn't talked about it, because Dean wouldn't let them. Because it didn't really matter he wanted. To fuck? Date? Be sweethearts? Yeah, it didn't matter, because it just couldn't happen.

And he thought Sam was starting to get that, starting to recognise that it had been ridiculous, and that the only reason he'd thought he wanted it was because he hadn't had any other option. But now he did. He had Billy, and the fact that he was still unwilling to give up on Dean, made him think that Sam was way more fucked up than he'd initially thought.

Shit, maybe Sam actually _did_ have feelings for him. Sexy, fluffy, incestuous feelings. And that was a damn scary thought. It meant that Dean would have to be very careful about things, maybe even back off entirely, not even try to be his brother or his friend, the way he had been, until Sam got over it.

He wasn't sure that was possible though, or even if it would work. He loved Sam, and he wanted what was best for him, but he was also selfish, and he didn't want to have to live without his kid brother. He wanted Sam with him, wanted them to be a family, but he didn't want all the recent strain and pressure.

And he couldn't just cut off from Sam entirely, even if he wanted to. They'd be moving soon, and neither of them would have anybody else. There'd be no escape, no other options for human contact for a while, and they were both going to be lonely, wounded, and leaving someone behind.

Huh. Suddenly, Sam's feelings towards him didn't seem that crazy after all. Not that Dean was ever going to return them. Hell no. But when he thought about things a certain way, he could get where Sam was coming from. Besides, Dean was damn hot. Couldn't really blame the kid.

Work was boring, and physically exhausting, and when Dean got home a little after six o'clock, after an eleven hour day, he met Sam on the sidewalk just outside their house. Sam was clearly just leaving as Dean was getting home, and Dean's first thought was _'thank God'_, because he was tired, and still felt uncomfortable around Sam, and he just wanted to heat up the leftover meatloaf from a few days ago, and crash in front of the television.

But as Sam passed him he barely spared him a glance, and just kept walking, hands in his pockets, and Dean remembered that he was supposed to be watching out for him, even if things were monumentally weird.

"Sammy," he called after Sam was a few steps past him, and Sam stopped, but didn't turn around.

"What?"

"Where you going?"

"Out?"

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. Yeah, Sam was a teenager, and he was supposed to act all sullen and withdrawn, but fuck, Dean wasn't _Dad_, and this shit was starting to get old.

He needed to know where Sam was because he was concerned. There was a lot of shit out there that could hurt people, especially hunters, and the families of hunters. Most especially Winchesters.

He only made rules, told Sam he couldn't do things, because Sam was still young enough to think he was invincible, and not pay as much attention as he should to all those dangers. He wasn't trying to be a pain in the ass. It was for Sam's own fucking good, and the little shit should fucking realise that, and show him some respect.

Oh, fuck. He cringed inwardly as the revelation struck him, and in light of Sam's infatuation, the thought was even more sickening. He was _exactly_ like Dad. Well… _a_ dad. Not necessarily theirs. One of the more normal ones, who actually stuck around to watch their kids grow up, and who cared what time they got in at night.

Oh, he knew John cared about them. Loved them even. Shit, that was why he'd been so hard on them, wanted them trained and tough and able to take care of themselves. But when it came to being a dad, John sucked.

"Out where?"

Sam turned around then, like he knew it was silly and childish to have a conversation with his back turned, but he didn't look happy about it.

"Billy's house," Sam said. "That okay with you?"

Dean didn't react to Sam's sarcasm. That would only make things worse. "You can do what you like, Sammy," he told him, completely seriously. "You know that. You're old enough. I just need to know in case something happens."

"I'm going to Billy's house," Sam repeated, voice kind of tight, like he didn't want to be talking to Dean, but knew that Dean wasn't going to let him go anywhere unless he had the details. "We're not planning on going out anywhere, but if we do, I'll call, and his mom is gonna give me a lift home. Okay?"

Dean huffed out a breath and licked his lips. "Yeah," he said, nodding at Sam, and feeling vaguely like he was giving up. Why the hell did Sam have to fight him like this on every single thing? Less than a year ago things had been so different. "Yeah, fine. Home by eleven. Have fun, Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam answered, and turned and walked away. Dean balled his hands up into fists and growled under his breath, and walked up the front path into the house. He was probably going to need that half a bottle of Jack that Dad had left last time he was home, to go along with that meatloaf.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 10 – Sam and Billy have some fun, Dean gets pissed off, Billy wises up, and a truce, of sorts, is reached.

***

Sam didn't get home until after one in the morning.

He'd snuck out with Billy, and a bottle of Billy's dad's homemade wine a little after eleven, when Dean had told him to be home, and he'd turned off his cell phone, so Dean couldn't call him.

He knew Dean was going to be pissed, but he really didn't care. Billy had just looked so… convincing, standing there in the doorway, grinning, his shoulder braced on the frame and propping him up, while he'd let the bottle of his dad's latest red hang loosely in his fingers, swaying it from side to side.

They had walked for a while, aimlessly, and carrying on a comfortable chatter, and ended up at the baseball diamond at their school, sitting on the gravel behind home plate, leaning against the chain link face. They shared the bottle back and forth, and traded casual kisses, innocent touches of hands on legs and bellies, while they talked. By the time the bottle was finished it was after midnight, and they were both feeling a little silly, and Sam still didn't want to go home.

He was having fun with Billy, hadn't wanted to say goodnight yet, and he sure as hell hadn't wanted to go home to Dean. Not yet, anyway. And okay, yes, he was rebelling. Didn't want to just have to do what Dean told him to all the time. But it wasn't like he was actually in any danger.

He had his knife, and his holy water and his pocket full of salt, and he wasn't alone. Sure, he was a good halfway to drunk, and Billy probably wouldn't be much help to him against anything supernatural, but the chances of them running into a ghost or a werewolf or something, where pretty damn slim.

He'd tackled Billy to the ground at some point, knocking the empty bottle from his hands, laughing, and climbed on top of him. He held his arms to the ground and straddled his waist, grinning down at him before bending over to catch his lips in a heated kiss, and gently rolled his hips.

Billy had been soft, and so had Sam, but after thirty seconds of rubbing together, they were both fully erect, and their kisses had gotten sloppier, their breathing more laboured. And Sam had no idea what the hell he was doing. Heavy duty making out, right on top of

home plate, in the middle of the schoolyard, just wasn't something Sam had ever thought about. It just didn't sound like him.

And he was pretty sure there was some of cheesy baseball metaphor for sex in there somewhere, but the wine had sort of gone to his head, and besides, coming up with stupid expressions like that was more Dean's thing than his.

He sort of wondered what Dean was doing then, if Abby was over again, or if he was out with her, what he was doing to her, what she was doing to him, and his chest tightened and his cock got harder. Wondered why he had to be so fucked up as to feel this way about his brother, when it would be so much easier to just be happy with Billy, and not hate every single person Dean ever looked at. Would be so much easier if he and Dean could get along, and talk about shit like this, like normal brothers.

And he really, really wanted that, he just didn't think it was possible. _Fuck, it was frustrating_!

"Uh, Sam?" Billy said, drawing Sam's attention back. He blinked and looked at Billy, and Billy smiled at him and nodded toward one of his wrists, held down by Sam. "Maybe go a bit easy there, yeah? Not that I mind a little bit of force every now and then, but if you mark me up too much, my other boyfriend might get jealous."

Sam frowned and turned his head to where Billy had indicated, where his fingers were wrapped tight around Billy's forearm. So tight, in fact, that Sam's knuckles were turning white, and his fingernails were digging hard enough into the flesh to mark it. He shook his head and immediately let go.

When he did, he looked more closely at Billy's arms, and while he wasn't _dripping_ blood, there were small amounts of it pooling up in two or three of the nail marks. "Shit," he whispered, and sat up all the way, hand reaching out hesitantly for Billy's wrist before he thought better of it. "Shit, Billy, I'm sorry. I just… guess I got carried away. Sorry."

"It's fine," Billy told him, still smiling, but it wasn't his usual cocky, flirty smile, not the one he normally wore when they were starting to, or thinking about starting to, make out. "But for next time, maybe cut your nails, Sam. Worse than a bloody girl."

Sam looked down, embarrassed, and Billy sat up then, in front of Sam on the hard ground, and reached his hand out to tilt up his chin. "Sam," he said, voice sounding so soft and comforting, and Sam flinched, almost pulling away, because he didn't deserve that tone.

He'd just been near to fantasizing about his big brother while he was with Billy (not for the first time) and he'd _hurt_ him, physically. He was horrible.

"Is something wrong?" Billy asked. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"I'm fine," Sam told him, voice tight and wholly unconvincing. He wasn't fine.

"You sure? Cause… This isn't the first time you've seemed a bit… distracted."

Shit. He should have known he was being so obvious about his head being elsewhere sometimes. "I'm fine," he said again, and managed a smile. "Really. Just got a lot on my mind, I guess. School, and… home and stuff. It's nothing."

Billy nodded, and Sam could tell that he didn't quite believe him, but thank God he was so freakin' awesome that he didn't push. His smile widened and his lips curled at the corner, his eyes got that slightly dangerous gleam back, and he licked his lips.

"Well then," he said, and placed a hand on Sam's chest, gently pressing him down onto the ground. He opened Sam's pants quickly, and took him out, pumping him a couple of times, and Sam cried out, then stilled, and snapped his mouth shut, eyes going comically wide when Billy kneeled between his legs and bent over, mouth a hair's breadth form the glistening tip of his cock. "I'll just have to try harder to keep your attention where it should be."

When Billy opened his mouth and took Sam inside, Sam screamed. He bucked up his hips, shoving himself so far down Billy's throat that Billy chocked and coughed and pulled away, looking up at Sam, almost laughing. "Sam, relax," he said. "It's just a blow job."

Sam nodded and blew out a heavy breath, hands clenching into fists at his side and picking up several small stones. "Yeah, but…" he said, and Billy's tongue darted out to lick the slit along his cockhead, and he grunted, and jerked forward again, though not as violently as the last time, which was at least something. "But I've never…"

"First time?" Billy asked, eyes wide with surprise and looking intently at Sam. Sam stayed silent, and thanked the dark night, lit only by streetlights and security lights around the school, that the deep blush on his face probably wasn't visible. "Wow," Billy continued. "I know you've been a bit shy, but I just figured it took you a while to warm up."

"Apparently it does," Sam mumbled, because they'd been together for months, and this was the first time oral sex had been in question.

"Well, it's not like we haven't done other stuff," Billy told him, gripping his erection tight, and pumping a few times, and Sam let out a deep moan and relaxed a little bit. "Getting a BJ isn't all that different. Just a little wetter. So relax, and stay still. Trust me, you're gonna love it."

Oh, Sam wasn't questioning that at all. He brought a hand to his mouth and bit it, hard, when Billy swallowed him down again, and stopped himself from screaming again, and managed to hold reasonably still, just like Billy had asked. It wasn't the sensation of having a mouth wrapped around him (not that it wasn't incredible, it was just that, like Billy said, they'd done other stuff, and the feeling wasn't _all_ that different) so much as the visual. As the looking down and seeing Billy between his legs, dick inside his mouth while he sucked around it, cheeks hollowing out and eyes fluttering closed.

A brief image of Dean in Billy's place flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away before it could fully form. That would be unfair to Billy, not to mention something very near torture to Sam. He didn't close his eyes, wanting the visual proof that it was Billy in front of him, so that his mind couldn't play anymore tricks, but that ended up biting him in the ass too, because with that view… yeah, he didn't last long.

Not that he usually did, but this time, it was more embarrassing than it had ever been. About twenty seconds. And that was being generous. Fuck, why did Billy have to be so hot?

He let out a soft moan through his release, and it turned into a groan of humiliation after Billy pulled back, licking his lips, and looking up at Sam with a raised eyebrow. "Bit excited?" he asked, and Sam scowled, and wanted to hit him. Did he have to rub it in? Shit it sounded exactly like something Dean would say.

"Shut up."

"Sorry," Billy said, climbing up over Sam's body, grinding his still hard cock into Sam's hip. He kissed him, or tried to, but Sam kept his lips shut tight, didn't want to open them to let Billy in, because… Well, fuck, because he'd just swallowed Sam's cum, and that was kind of gross. Billy backed off when he noticed that Sam didn't seem interested in deepening the kiss, and Sam felt a little bad about that. "You're just so bloody cute, Sam," Billy told him. "Everything about you. You make me smile."

Sam closed his eyes tightly at that, the words stabbing straight into his heart. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why did he have to love Dean so damn much that he was shutting himself off from a totally awesome guy? He did like Billy, Billy did make him happy, but he just wasn't Dean, and the bottom line was, anyone who wasn't Dean, wasn't good enough. Didn't stop Sam from this, though.

Yeah, he was a total prick.

"Tell me you like me," Sam demanded, his breath still a little shaky as he turned them on their sides, and reached for the front of Billy's pants. He fumbled, trying to open them, and Billy blinked before helping him out with much steadier hands. He grabbed Billy's dick in his fist and jerked it, too tight, too fast, too dry. "Tell me."

"Sam," Billy gasped, pushed his hips forward sharply before pulling them back. "Slow down. I like you." He leaned forward and kissed him, soft and chaste, not trying for tongue, and ran his fingers through Sam's hair, brushing it off his face, and tucking it behind his ear. "You know that. What's this about?"

Sam closed his eyes and tried to loosen his grip on Billy's shaft, tried to do this the way he normally did, to make Billy come, feel as good as he'd made Sam feel. He couldn't possibly tell Billy what it was about, because, just like always, it was about Dean. Dean didn't like him, not like this, and Sam needed to know that someone did, that he was worth feeling like this about, even if it was the wrong person doing the feeling.

"Tell me you want me," Sam said instead of answering. "Tell me…"

"Sam," Billy said, the word coming out on a moan, because Sam had managed to pick up the proper pressure and rhythm to send pleasure down his cock, and start him towards climax. "I don't know what's going on, but… shit, fuck! But… I want you. Always want you. Please, just…"

Sam switched the angle of his wrist just slightly, and though it was a bit uncomfortable for him, he knew it was what Billy needed. A few seconds later, Billy bucked forward and cried out, hand holding tight to the back of Sam's head, and filled Sam's hand with white, sticky fluid.

Billy fell over onto his back, panting, with a dazed sort of happy look on his face, and Sam felt… okay. Billy did want him. He did like him. And Sam felt the same way. Just because he belonged to Dean, whether he liked it or not, didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy being with Billy. It hurt to think they wouldn't have much more time together before Sam had to leave, but Billy didn't know that, and if he wanted to make the most of it while it lasted, he needed to get the hell over his shit, and just be happy. Though that was probably a lot easier said than done.

It took Billy a few minutes to recover, and when he did he sat up, pulling Sam with him, and Sam awkwardly wiped his messy hand on his pants. "Come on," Billy said, and leaned forward to kiss along Sam's neck, several hot, sloppy kisses. "I'll walk you home."

Sam had sort of been offended at first, because he wasn't some little girl that needed her date to take her safely back to her door afterwards, but he grudgingly realised that Billy was only trying to be nice.

Besides, that would mean a little more time with him, and maybe, if Billy was with him when he got back home, Dean wouldn't kill him on the spot. It was possible his brother would be polite enough to wait until they were alone.

He was almost right.

Sam giggled when he pulled out his key, having to try once or twice before he actually managed to get into the lock, because Billy was standing behind him, arms wrapped around him, and licking up the back of his neck, fingers tickling the skin underneath his shirt. Not because he was still a bit tipsy from all the wine. "Stop it," he laughed. "I can't open the door with you doing that. And I don't to wake up Dean."

"Dean," Billy said, almost sighed, into Sam's ear. "Right. Yeah, wouldn't want to…" he stopped, and kissed Sam again, lips around his earlobe and sucking it into his mouth, hips pushing forward to rub against Sam's ass. "…wake him up."

Sam tossed his head back and rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he didn't know that Billy had a bit of a crush on Dean, but after the first time they'd met, when Billy had been nearly stunned and drooling, he'd been really good about not rubbing Sam's nose in it. Sure, he'd caught him staring a few times, and Billy hadn't been as casual as he thought he'd been when he suggested they hang out at Sam's place, even though Dean was there. But he'd never once mentioned it, and it wasn't really like Sam was in any position to criticize.

Sam made to turn the key, once he'd gotten it inside the lock, but he didn't get the chance. The door swung open from inside, to reveal Dean, tall and solid, posture tight and eyes hard.

"Hey," Billy said, from behind him, not bothering to let go, and Sam just looked at his brother, didn't want to be the first one to talk. He had nothing to say anyway. He knew he'd disobeyed, and he knew Dean was pissed. Anything he said at that point would only make things worse.

Dean took almost a full second to scowl at Billy before he looked back at Sam, and Sam huffed out a short laugh, because he thought he could almost actually see smoke coming out of his ears. "Where the fuck have you been?" Dean demanded, voice dangerously low, and Billy finally let go of Sam, moving to stand slightly back and to the side, starting to get that it might have been a better idea for them to keep quiet.

"Getting a blow job," Sam shot, and he heard Billy suck in a shocked breath behind him, and fuck, he had no idea what had made him say that.

Dean stepped forward lightening fast and grabbed Sam by the front of his shirt, yanking him across the threshold and into the house. Sam didn't fight, wouldn't have stood a chance anyway, and he let Dean slam him into the wall next to the door, hard, breath coming out of him in a whoosh.

He turned his head slightly and caught Billy looking at them, eyes wide and slightly terrified, but he stood where he was, and didn't say anything. That was probably smart.

Dean leaned in to speak right into Sammy's face, angry and threatening, and using his height to his advantage, but he must have gotten too close, must have caught a whiff of the booze on Sam's breath, because he screwed up his face, and pulled back a bit. "Dude," he said, halfway between incredulous and pissed off. "Are you fucking _drunk_?!"

He bunched up more of Sam's shirt into his fist and pressed harder on his chest, making it a little more difficult for Sam to breathe. "Not anymore," Sam mumbled, tilting his head down. He'd just been having fun, being a normal kid, and yeah, he'd been trying to prove a point, but he wanted to avoid the disappointed anger that he knew he'd see in Dean's face if he looked up.

And he hadn't even really been drunk in the first place, just… light-headed. And Dean got drunk all the time, so what the fuck?! Well, there was the fact that Dean was over four years older than he was, but still.

Dean growled at Sam's response, and Sam could feel Dean vibrating with anger.

"And what the fuck part of 'home by eleven' do you not get, Sammy?" Dean ground out after a moment, stepping in closer, bodies pressed together, face turned down so that his lips were almost on Sam's forehead.

"Fuck off, Dean," Sam hissed, and brought up his arms to ineffectually push at Dean's, but his brother didn't release his grip. "I'm almost sixteen. I can do what I want. And anyway, I'm surprised you even noticed I was out so late. Where's _Abby_?"

Dean's eyes got even darker and he pulled back just a bit, using the extra space to slam Sam against the wall again, shaking him. "Don't," he said, and finally let go of Sam, stepping back, and letting Sam adjust his shirt. "Don't pull that shit now, Sammy. Yeah, I'm seeing someone. Doesn't mean I don't worry about you. Doesn't mean you don't come first."

Sam looked down then briefly, ashamed, because he knew it was the truth. No matter who Dean was fucking, even if he had a girlfriend, Sam would always come first. He'd always love Sam the most.

Dean looked to Billy again, and Sam only saw Dean's side of the exchange, because he was making a point not to turn his head away from Dean, and from this direction, he didn't have any kind of view of Billy's face. After a few seconds of tense silence, Dean spoke.

"Get in the fuckin' car, Billy. I'm takin' you home."

"What?" Billy asked, and Sam could tell it was his 'fuck this' tone, and he cringed, and wanted to tell him not to even try that on Dean. "No."

Dean stepped out the door and onto the front porch, standing close to Billy and looming over him, and Sam finally turned around to look. He saw Dean jab a finger into Billy's chest, hard, and Billy staggered back. "Get in the fuckin' car. Now," Dean said, and his tone made Billy swallow. "Your mom wasn't too fuckin' pleased with a phone call from me at midnight wanting to know where my kid brother was. Wanna guess who it was, exactly, that she wasn't pleased with?"

Billy flinched back, but Sam didn't know if it was Dean's threatening posture, or the mention of his mother being pissed off that did it, and before he could decide, Dean had spun back around on him. "Two minutes," he growled at Sam. "Say your goodnights, and then get the fuck inside. I'll deal with you when I get home."

Dean stomped down the path to the driveway and got into the car, slamming the door behind him and blatantly staring out the window at them. He supposed it was kind of cool of his big brother to even give him that much time with Billy, but the jackass was still looking at them.

Sam stepped out of the house, not sparing more than a glance toward the car, and Dean. He'd have to deal with him soon enough. And now… now he had Dean's undivided attention, and he was going to make the most out of it.

He lifted one of his hands, grabbing Billy's arm and pulling him forward, stepping back himself so that Billy landed right in front of him, Sam pressed to the front wall of the house, with Billy resting against him.

"Sam…" Billy started, but Sam cut him off with a kiss, mouth wide open and prying Billy's lips apart, and after a token resistance, Billy capitulated, like Sam knew he would. They kissed, lips and tongues moving against each other's, and Sam lifted one of his legs, bending his knee and wrapping it around Billy's, hands hard on his back, keeping him close.

He was fully conscious that Dean was watching his every move, and in all honesty, that's what was driving him. He was so fucking pissed off at Dean, even if logically Sam knew it wasn't his fault, for holding his heart hostage the way he was, for forcing Sam to do this with someone, and not even being there as an option. For forcing Sam to feel something for someone that he was going to have to give up.

So Dean should see. See what he'd given up, what he'd turned down, see who was most important to Sam these days, and deal with the fact that it wasn't Dean anymore. Except that it was. It so totally was, and always would be, no matter who he was with or where he went. The fact that the same was true of Dean's feelings for him was of little comfort, because it wasn't the right kind of important.

At some point, probably a lot more than the two minutes Dean had given them later, when Sam was hopelessly, mindlessly, rutting up against Billy, and his lips were puffed up and swollen and they were both hard again, Billy pulled back, eyes narrowed and a thin line of saliva joining their mouths.

"Okay," he said, and he sounded harder than Sam ever remembered hearing him. "What the fuck, Sam?" he asked, and shot a glance at Dean, who wasn't even pretending that he wasn't staring. Sam was surprised he wasn't pulling a face and holding up his wrist to point at his watch. "You're brother is watching, and he's pissed enough."

Sam growled and pushed Billy back a bit, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and resisting the urge to stomp his foot. That would have been juvenile. "You've really got a thing for him don't you?" Sam asked, his tone accusing and face trying it's best for disgusted. He wouldn't have been able to pull it off though, because Dean and Billy were anything but disgusting, and Dean _and_ Billy was even less so. "Dean."

Billy huffed out a laugh, the humour not quite reaching his eyes, and shook his head at Sam. "Funny. I was gonna say the same thing to you."

"What?!" Sam shrieked, horrified, and backing up against the wall to put as much space between him and Billy as he could. He couldn't really be saying… fuck. Sam swallowed and tried to steady his voice. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not an idiot," Billy said through a sort of smile. "This little display here, you practically begging for it? It's not for my benefit."

"Billy," Sam said, and blinked, licked his lips in a nervous gesture. "No. It… I just wanted…"

"To let your sexy big brother know that you've got someone else?"

"No! No, that's… it's not like that."

Billy stepped closer again and lifted his palm to Sam's cheek, and Sam managed through an extreme force of will not to flinch back. "Because it ended badly, or because he didn't want it in the first place?"

Was he that fucking obvious? Sam's eyes fell, and he pursed his lips together, squeezed his eyes shut to make sure nothing leaked out. There was no use arguing it. It seemed like Billy had noticed what Sam was doing his best to hide. He tilted his head up at Billy and chanced a smile, sad though it was. "Both?" he offered, and didn't imagine for a second that Billy would leave it at that.

Billy sighed and stepped back, looked down at the ground, over at Dean again, and that look lasted way too long to Sam, who hadn't followed it. "Really?" he asked, when he finally looked back at Sam, like he couldn't quite believe it. "You… and… your _brother_?"

"No!" Sam said again, more forceful this time, and wanted to pull Billy closer, but didn't know if he'd allow it. "I swear. We didn't…" God, he was lucky Billy wasn't already throwing up. Who knew how he'd react if he thought that Sam and Dean were actually having sex.

"But you want to?"

Sam didn't say anything for almost four seconds, and apparently that was enough of an answer.

"Look, you're obviously trying to prove a point to your brother, trying to tick him off. That's been obvious for a while, Sam." Billy moved in closer again, and took Sam's hand, and Sam just about fainted with relief. That was a good sign, that he still willing to touch him after finding out how disgusting he was. "At first, I thought it was just because he had a problem with us. With you… you know… being gay."

"I'm not…" Sam started. He wasn't gay. He liked girls too, but that wasn't the point, so he quickly shut his mouth. The point was, Dean didn't seem to have a problem with him and Billy, and that was the problem for Sam. He'd spent so many nights agonising about Dean out with other people, and it would just be nice for Dean to get a taste of that as well.

"Not gay?" Billy asked, completing Sam's thought. "Whatever. The fact you like cock as well as pussy then, if it makes it easier for you. Anyway, at first I thought it was that, but… then I started to pay more attention, and I'd have to be a whole lot dumber than you give me credit for if I hadn't noticed."

He was still holding Sam's hand, still not pulling away, disgusted, so Sam took that as a good sign, and was about ready to get down and kiss Billy's sneakers for it. He licked his lips nervously, and twitched slightly as he thought about stepping forward. "I'm sorry," was all he could get out.

Billy nodded, and held Sam's hand tighter. "It's okay," he said, and Sam got dizzy. He couldn't mean that. "I mean… yeah, it's gross. _Fuck_ it's gross, but hell, Dean's not _my_ brother. And I totally get what you see in him," he said, his tone taking on that slight flirty humour again and he flicked his head to check Dean out.

"Guy's hot." He shrugged, and turned back to Sam. "So are you. I just… I like you, Sam. I don't want to be some sort of prop in whatever game you're playing with him, to get him to notice you."

Sam remained still for a moment and a half, and that was probably a moment too long.

Billy pulled back and straightened up, all business, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Right. Fine. I get it, I do," he told Sam, and Sam's eyes started to water. "I just wish you wouldn't have strung me along this far." Billy started to turn, and Sam knew he was seconds away from walking away, forever.

"Wait!" he said, and Billy did, turned back around even, and Sam had no idea what to say, so he went with the truth. Or, some of it. "Yeah, okay?" He looked down, pained expression on his face, and took a breath. "Yeah, I… Dean's kinda hot. But he wouldn't even… So no. No, nothing has ever happened." _Almost nothing._

If anything, Billy's expression turned even more disapproving. Shit. "I know," Sam hastened to admit. "I know it's sick, and I shouldn't… fuck. Never mind. I'm just… sorry."

"Sam, I already told you, Dean's not _my_ brother. I'm just not gonna sit around, faithful to you, while you let your brother get places that make you squeamish when we hint at them. Not without me, anyway," he added with a smirk, and Sam knew it wasn't genuine. He knew Billy was freaked out, and he was trying, and that was amazing.

"So…" Sam said, after a few seconds, genuinely smiling, as it struck him how freakin' weird this was. "We both have crushes on Dean."

Billy ducked his head, and then looked back at Sam. Not quite a nod, but an acknowledgment of the truth. "I promise I won't do anything, if you promise you won't," Sam hedged, trying to sound joking, but he was really pretty serious. He knew Dean, and he knew it wouldn't take more than a few shots of tequila before he and Billy were rolling around on the nearest spare bed. And he knew Dean wasn't going anywhere near _him_.

Billy snorted heavily, barely managing not to cover Sam with mucous, and shook his head. "You know you're fucked up, right, Sam?"

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it."

"Yeah," Billy sighed. "Yeah, okay. If I haven't told you already, Sam, I should have. I want to be just us. Nobody else. Not even brothers. Hell, especially not brothers." He chuckled, and smiled. "So let's just… keep on like we are, and I'll go on pretending you're not a huge freak."

Sam barked out a laugh that sounded a little bit wet, and bit his lip. "Yeah, and I'll go on pretending you're not a huge slut, lusting after every guy you see."

Innocence washed across Billy's face briefly, and he nodded, solemnly. "I'd appreciate that."

Sam nodded, and moved forward to kiss Billy again, lips smirking up at the corner. "I like you," Sam said, voice soft in Billy's ear, because he'd asked Billy to tell him, but he'd never actually said it back. "And I want you. A lot."

"Me too, Sam," Billy told him, returning the kiss, and sweeping his tongue out over Sam's lip. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Sam watched Billy walk down the path to the driveway and get into the passenger seat of the Impala next to Dean, and wished he could say the same thing. Wished he could tell Billy that he wasn't going anywhere either. It would almost be a relief if Dean fucked him, and then Sam wouldn't have to worry about breaking his heart. Almost.

By the time Dean got home again, more than half an hour had passed, and Sam was starting to suspect that the two of them _had_ actually gotten up to something. But after thirty-seven minutes, Dean burst through the door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him, and turned to Sam who was sitting on the sofa, and snarled, "Don't fuck this up, Sam."

Sam started, and didn't get the chance to ask what Dean was talking about before he started up again.

"You like him. I know you do. And he likes you. Not gonna lie though," he said, and quirked a grin, cocking his head. "If he was a bit older, you might have some competition, little brother."

"Dean…"

"But Sam… this, right here, is our life. Even if it's just for a little while, this is our life. Make the best of it, while it lasts. Please."

Sam hesitated, but eventually nodded, not quite sure what had caused Dean's sudden change in attitude, sending him from 'parent of troubled teen' to 'relationship councillor' in such a short time. He was almost afraid to ask what Dean and Billy had talked about on the drive. Dean sighed in relief and nodded back.

"Good," he said, and flopped down on the couch next to Sam, tension leaving him in almost visible waves. "But don't think I've forgotten about your little show at rebellion tonight. Get that skinny little ass of yours to bed. And don't even think about seeing your little boyfriend for at least a week. Dude's bad news."

"Dean!" Sam protested. He could tell that Dean didn't honestly think that Billy was bad news, but he _was_ completely serious about not seeing him all week.

"You fucked up, Sammy. And you did it on purpose. Deal with the consequences."

Sam didn't speak, didn't move, and Dean turned toward him, nudging him in the ribs with an elbow until Sam looked up.

"I love you, you stupid little bitch. And I worry," Dean said, and then Sam smiled, and stood, walked into the bedroom without another glance at Dean. He didn't need one. This night had already ended so much better than he'd though it would.

"No TV either!" he heard Dean shout, and smiled when he shut the door behind him.

He wasn't going to be able to see Billy, or likely do anything else besides go to school and come home, for a week, but it was worth it. Dean had told him he loved him.

***

The next two months went by much like the previous two. Dean dated Abby and worked fixing up houses, and Sam dated Billy and did his best to finish at the top of all his classes, and Dad stayed away and hunted.

On Sam's birthday, Dean made a point of spending some time with his brother. Sam didn't know that it was coming, so he was more than a little surprised when Dean had picked him up after school, smiled at him, and shoved the car keys into his hand, before settling himself in the passenger seat.

It took Sam a minute, and a few openings and closings of his jaw to understand that Dean actually wanted him to drive his car, and even after that, it was another good minute before he actually managed to get into the driver's seat.

Dean let Sam drive his baby (well, okay, Dad's baby, but Dean was driving it more and more these days), gently coaching him as Sam took whatever turns and roads he felt like, even though he didn't have a licence. It mattered fuck-all to Dean. He didn't have a license either; it was forged.

Dean wasn't particular about where they ended up, and Sam wasn't either, and he just drove them until he didn't want to drive anymore. When they ended up on the side of the road next to a vast field that looked like it had once been some kind of farm, Sam was smiling, wide and happy, and Dean was impressed that Sam hadn't crashed them.

They got out of the car and sat on the hood, backs resting against the windshield, and they watched the sky for a while. There wasn't much to watch, because it was pretty cloudy, but that didn't stop them from staring, while Sam told Dean about his latest math test, and Dean bitched about how Mrs. Flemming had changed her mind after Dean had spent three days installing 'burnt sienna' cabinets in her kitchen, and decided she wanted the 'deep rust' instead.

When they got home, and into their bedroom, Dean wrapped his arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled him close, kissed him on the head and told him 'Happy birthday', throwing a tiny little box at him before falling back on his bed.

Sam looked at Dean, and then at the box, before sitting on his own bed, and opening it up.

Sam's eyes narrowed and then widened, and he picked up the scuffed silver key between two fingers, and held it up, looking to Dean for an explanation.

"Now don't go thinkin' you can drive her whenever you like," he said, smiling. "It's mostly for emergencies." He didn't have much spare cash to buy Sam a real present, so a spare to key to his baby was about the best he could manage. Besides, it was about the most meaningful thing he'd ever given anybody.

"Really?" Sam asked, focusing on the _mostly_, and surprised Dean would trust him even that much, after all they'd been through lately.

"Jeez, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head, but grinning at him. "Don't get hard or anything. Least not yet…"

"Dean?"

"I'm gonna let you take her out. On your own"

Sam's jaw dropped, and Dean snickered. "But Dean… I don't even have a license!"

Dean smiled, ignoring that comment, because Sam had already proven that he could drive the Impala without messing her up. "Only once," he said. "One time. Take your boy out. He loves that car."

"Yeah, more than he loves _me_," Sam muttered, but he wasn't upset, just honest, and still looking between the key and Dean.

"Go where you like," Dean said, "Stay out as late as you like."

"Are you… really?" Dean never _ever_ let him stay out later than eleven. And the last time Sam had, he'd gotten… well, grounded. He made a face just thinking about it, because really, how fucked up was that? Getting grounded by his brother. Dude.

"Just make sure you keep your cell on, and call me every half hour."

Sam scrunched up his face and stared at his brother. "But Dean," he complained. "How am I supposed to have time to…" He trailed off and his face turned the reddest it had ever been, and he looked down again, unable to finish. He was surprised he'd even started.

Dean laughed and wriggled out of his pants, kicking them off and plumping up his pillow, before resting his head against it. "Sam, are you really tryin' to tell me that with two sixteen year old boy libido's, you can't manage to do what you need to do in a half hour?"

"Billy's still fifteen," Sam said, and tried hard not to smile, but on top of knowing it was the best offer he was likely to get from Dean, ever, it was also an incredibly sweet one. He loved that Dean worried so much.

"Why Sammy, you little cradle robber, you," Dean teased with a wide grin. "You like?" he asked, trying to hide his nerves. Things hadn't really been great between them lately, but they'd been getting better, and Dean wanted them to keep on getting better.

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a smile, putting the box holding the key down on the table between their beds, and stripped out of his own clothes, before wriggling under the covers. "Thanks, Dean. I love you."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said, but Sam heard 'I love you, too.'

"Jerk," Sam said, and Dean nodded, proud, and they both fell into a comfortable sleep.

***

After Sam got back from his Impala date with Billy, he was still a virgin. Not that he was expecting anything different, and not that Dean didn't think that he'd lost it long before then. It just made the whole thing sort of… anit-climactic.

He _had_ experienced the taste of cum though. Both his own and Billy's, and he'd had a freakin' cock in his mouth, witch was… just plain weird!

He'd liked it, he thought, but it was going to take some practice, and he sure as hell wasn't ready to go any further just yet.

Billy was good about it, going as slow as Sam needed, never even complaining. But then again, he was getting off when he needed to (blow jobs and hand jobs worked wonders when he started to get a little impatient), so he probably wouldn't. Still, they had fun, and Sam was happy, most of the time.

***

The school bell, the one that signalled the end of last class of the year before summer started, hadn't even finished ringing yet, before John had his two kids and all their meagre belongings piled up in the Impala and the Sierra, and they were all on the road again, Ann Arbor in their rearview mirror, and dust kicking up behind them.

And it was time for Sam and Dean to start over again.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 11 – Moving on is hard for everyone, Sam especially. He's pissy and agitated, and Dean wants to help. Really he does. And he doesn't at all want things to get worse.

***

"Dean," John said, or more accurately mumbled, face buried in his book as his right hand scribbled something down in his leather-bound journal on the table in front of him.

Dean took a purposefully even breath, and forced himself to stay still on the bed, not react to John's call. He let his thumb move just enough to hit the volume button on the television, letting John know he wasn't interested in what he had to say without actually saying it, and felt ridiculously childish. Yeah, so it was passive aggressive, and that normally wasn't Dean's thing, especially not where John was concerned, but he was pissed off.

It had been two weeks since they'd left Ann Arbor, two weeks since Dean, since Sam, had felt like they'd belonged, had somebody that they cared about, that they mattered to, and John had gotten them right back into things, acting like it was nothing. Fuck, to him it _was_ nothing. He hadn't been there much, hadn't seen them, hadn't seen how happy Sam was, hadn't cared.

Dean knew he shouldn't either, that he couldn't afford to. Because this, this moving on, this hunt, this nameless motel in this backwater town… this was his life. And really, he was okay with that. Sometimes, he even got off on it. On the danger and the unpredictability. But Sam didn't. Sam was doing good. _Fuck_, Sam was doing good. Had friends, a boyfriend, doing great in school. Almost like he was a normal kid.

And Dean knew he wanted that, it was good for him, and John just didn't give a shit. Well, okay, that wasn't exactly fair. He'd left them alone long enough for Sam to finish out the school year, but shit. Just because he was finished with the tenth grade didn't mean that he was finished with all the emotional attachments the year brought with it.

And so yeah, Dean was pissed off.

"Dean," John said again, more forceful this time, barking out the word, and slamming his journal shut on the table on front of him in a loud '_clap'_ that made Dean flinch. He knew he'd be pushing it if he ignored his father any more, so he ground his teeth and shut the television off, sliding his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up straight.

"Yes sir," Dean answered, biting his tongue so that he didn't say anything John didn't want to hear. He never would, no matter how angry he was, no matter what John had done. Little shows of independence aside, he'd always do whatever their father asked him to. Always, without exception.

He was John Winchester, and he deserved no less than total devotion and obedience. And Dean was a soldier. Raised into this life, and damn good at it.

"You're obviously not gonna be any use to me with this mood you've got yourself into," John said, standing up and pushing his chair closer to the table. "I've gotta get some research done tonight. Talk to some witnesses."

Dean looked up at him and nodded, didn't say anything. There was no need to, not until John asked him to speak.

"Get your head on straight, Dean," he said, and slid into his jacket. "I'm gonna need you on this hunt tomorrow, and I'm gonna need you sharp." He didn't wait for a response, didn't have to, just nodded at Dean once, and slid out the door, shutting it behind him.

Dean waited until he heard the rumble of the Sierra's engine, and a few seconds later heard the low noise fade into the distance, before he let out a sharp breath. He swiped a hand over his face, attempting to wipe away any lingering feelings of guilt at not jumping to John's request straight up, and the remnants of disgust at supporting the man who'd taken away Sam's life.

He didn't have time to think about any of that shit. Not now. Sam would be home from the grocery store soon (he'd actually gotten kind of comfortable driving by himself, and Dean sometimes let him, not that either of them ever asked Dad), and Dean figured a big part of 'getting his head on straight' like Dad ordered, was trying to smooth things over with Sam.

He wasn't under any delusions that it would be easy. Sam had been damn difficult since they'd moved on, and Dean hadn't been expecting anything different. The few times that Dean had tried to strike up a conversation, he'd been met with a scowl and a stony silence. A vast difference to the light laughter and easy smiles they'd worked damn hard to achieve in recent months.

And every time Sam looked at him like that, like Dean had just killed his puppy, or stolen his best friend, Dean got a little bit angrier at John. Because it wasn't Dean's fault. None of this was Dean's fault, but that didn't stop Sam from blaming him, or John from letting Dean take that blame.

Hell, It probably would have better if John had been too busy, too preoccupied, to even notice the tension between Dean and Sam, but Dean knew that wasn't the case. There wasn't much that John missed, but there wasn't much besides hunting that he ever thought needed talking about.

And if Dean was going to be able to think clearly, to be of any use to his dad when the heat was on, he needed to try to at least get Sam to talk to him. This sullen, withdrawn, downright bitchy Sam was driving Dean fucking crazy.

He stood up and took a deep breath, walked over to the fridge and pulled out a six-pack of PBR, and set it on the table next to the small couch, a peace offering, before sitting down and flicking the TV back on.

Beer and television. It had worked before. Sort of. He ignored the memory his brain supplied of several months ago, and Sam trying to force his tongue into Dean's mouth, and tried to think good, non-incestuous thoughts.

When he would look back on all this later, he would realise that it wasn't this night, wasn't this stupid idea, that started it all. No, it started a long time ago, and was encouraged by a few stupid decisions, made with the best of intentions, and a lot of almost thoughtless actions, that only encouraged Sam's messed up desires.

But he'd been fighting a losing battle for years now, and maybe if he'd been stricter with Sammy, more direct, he could have prevented it. But he wasn't, couldn't even be, because Sam was his weakness, and no matter what it cost, no matter the price, he'd always give in to his brother in the end.

Really, John and Sam were right; it was all his fault.

***

By the time Sam got back, almost an hour later, Dean had already drunk three of the beers, and was halfway through his fourth. It might not have been the smartest move, deciding to get drunk tonight, but he wasn't drunk, just a little buzzed, and honestly, he needed that at the moment to take the edge off, to relax him, and hopefully make this night with Sam manageable, and like John had said, get his head on straight.

And judging by the almost grouchy, slightly disinterested look Sam shot at him before turning his back and heading toward the kitchen area and the tight set of his shoulders as he kept himself angled away from Dean while he put the groceries away, Sam could use some relaxing himself.

It had only been a couple of weeks, and Sam was back to sullen teenager in full force. It looked like lack of sex really didn't agree with him. Dean idly wondered if Sam's mood would improve, or get worse, if Dean drove them down to Ann Arbor for a night, so Sam could see his ex, and maybe take the edge off.

And now that he was thinking about Billy, he wondered if him and Sam actually were ex. It was possible they hadn't split when the family had moved, that they still kept in touch, and planned to see each other again, when and if they could. Dean wanted to ask, but he figured that no matter what the answer was, talking about it would only piss Sam off more.

When he'd left Abby, it had actually gone really well. He hadn't told her the truth of course, just that his dad had gotten transferred at work and that they were moving. He'd told her it had been fun, and that he'd miss her, and she'd smiled at him, knowing and sly, like she hadn't expected him to stick around forever, like she didn't even want him to.

Abby wasn't really into commitment any more than Dean was, and though she would miss him right back, she was probably a little relieved to be single again. Dean didn't mind. It was a lot of what had made them so great for each other.

It _had_ been fun, and he _would_ miss her, but he wasn't really sorry to leave her behind. He had Dad, and he had hunting, and most importantly, he had Sam. Or, he did if Sam would start talking to him again.

"Dude," he said, his mouth acting on its own, speaking the words he'd been thinking, and Sam slid a can of beans onto the second shelf and shut the cupboard door before turning around. "Are you ever going to talk to me again?"

Sam didn't quite sigh, and his arms moved, twitching, his elbows going to rest on the counter behind him briefly, before he gave up on trying to look casual, and they returned to his sides. "I talk to you all the time, Dean," he said, voice heavy with exhaustion, though Dean knew it wasn't physical.

"Yeah, well, 'pass the ketchup' and 'don't use up all the hot water' don't really count, Sammy," Dean told him, lips quirking up at one corner, a hesitant half smile that came out more like a grimace. "When was the last time we said more than ten words to each other, just hung out?"

Sam looked at his brother, but didn't say anything. They both knew exactly when the last time that happened was. Sam's birthday. And it had been awesome. Things hadn't exactly gone downhill from there (not until recently, anyway), so much as stayed in a pretty awesome place, but they hadn't really spent any 'quality time' together since then. One thing or another had always come up, a hunt or a test or a significant other.

But lately, Sam just hadn't been in the mood to be near Dean.

He was still smarting over losing Billy, not that he hadn't known it was coming, but Billy hadn't. Sam had just disappeared one day, and it had taken him almost a week to work up the never to call him, and explain.

Billy had been seriously ticked off, yelling at Sam through the tinny earpiece of the twenty year old telephone in their West Virginia motel, demanding to know where the hell he'd been, and why had hadn't returned Billy's calls.

"Sorry," Sam had said, quiet, and he'd just known that Billy could hear the tears in his voice, because he'd relented a little, took a breath, started over, slower and more calm.

"Sam," he'd said, the single word, his name on Billy's lips, grounding him, and he'd managed to calm himself a bit, to swallow down the temper tantrum, the shouting and stomping his foot and yelling 'it's not fair!', because he'd needed to tell Billy that he wasn't coming back. Probably ever.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I… I meant to call." Only that was a lie. He hadn't meant to, or he would have. He'd been scared shitless to call, scared to end the only relationship, hell, one of the only _friendships_, he'd ever had. He'd been dreading that phone call, but he'd known he couldn't put it off forever.

"Sam, baby," Billy said, and he sounded so steady and understanding, and fuck, _baby_, and Sam almost cracked again. Now that he was faced with losing him, Sam was starting to realise that he'd really fallen for Billy. Like… really. But thinking about that wasn't going to get him anywhere. He was gone, out of Billy's life, and now it was just the road, and his books, and Dean. "It's okay. I'm not mad. Just… You scared me, you know? It's been a week, and I was worried."

"Yeah, I uh…" he started, and then clammed up, realised he had no idea what he was going to say. He hadn't planned it out before he'd called, just psyched himself up, and dialled, and now… now he had to tell Billy _something_. "We moved."

Yeah, that was nice and lame. And not at all vague, and shifty, and just plain weird. Who the hell just moved like that, without telling anyone? Yeah, Winchesters, that was who. Only they didn't move 'just like that'. Sam knew it was coming, and he'd chosen not to tell Billy. He sucked.

"You moved," Billy repeated, halfway to confused, but still sounding annoyingly rational. "Where to? And… why?"

"Rock Hill," Sam answered quickly, because that was where they were at the time of the phone call, even if they were just passing through while Dad and Dean took down a poltergeist, and Sam kind of helped, but mostly watched, and complained about the fog. "I wanted to tell you sooner." Lie. "But I didn't know we'd be leaving that soon after school."

"You're living in Rock Hill?" Billy asked, and Sam nodded, even though Billy couldn't see it through the phone. "Why? I mean… for good? Are you coming back? At least for school next year?"

Sam took a breath and licked his lips, closed his eyes. "Yeah, for good. I don't think we're coming back. Dad got…" he coughed, clearing his throat nervously, trying to hide the ache in his chest. "Got a promotion, so we had to move here. I guess we'll be here a while."

"Sam," Billy said, and Sam could hear his squint, the slight, disbelieving narrow of his eyebrows. "Your dad owns his own business. Private security you said." And yeah, that was close enough to the truth that he didn't feel terrible about lying to his boyfriend. "How can he get a promotion if he's his own boss?"

Shit. Yeah, that was why it was best not to open up to anyone, even a little, because one tiny lie about what his dad did for a living could ruin everything. Sam was going to have to either shut off from people completely, or get a lot better at lying. Like Dean.

"Uh… He is. I mean, he did, but…" Sam stammered, but he didn't think it was all that noticeable. He was a terrible liar, at least face to face, but he was smart, and he could think shit up pretty quickly, and usually did a good job of convincing people it was the truth, so long as he didn't have to look them in the eye.

"He sold the business," he said, because it sounded like as good a lie as any. "Some chain corporation, and he's staying on as a supervisor. The head office is in Little Rock, so… we moved."

There was a pause, and Sam couldn't decide if he should hang up right then, and get this torture over with.

"You mean Rock Hill," Billy said, and he sounded… off.

Sam forced a small chuckle, and gripped the phone tighter in his hand. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Stupid travelling all the time. The names of most cities were completely interchangeable. Fuck, most cities were lucky if Sam and Dean even bothered to call them anything at all. "I didn't even want to come here in the first place," he added quietly, saying the words out loud for the first time.

He'd made it pretty clear to Dad and Dean that he hadn't wanted to move, but he'd never actually said it. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, and it only would have made things harder.

"You didn't?" Billy asked, and Sam knew by the expectant tone in his voice that he was really asking if Sam was upset about having to leave him.

Sam smiled. "No, I didn't want to leave. I…"

Billy waited a beat before answering what Sam hadn't even voiced. "Yeah. I'll miss you too, Sam."

Billy had told him that just because Sam had moved, it didn't mean they still couldn't keep in touch. There were phone calls, and letters, and maybe even a visit every once in a while. Sam hadn't known exactly what Billy had meant by that, if he was suggesting occasional awkward correspondence between exes, or if he wanted them to stay together, and try the long distance thing, but Sam couldn't have anyway. They'd be on the road too much, and Billy would want answers when Sam couldn't give him a steady phone number or address.

He'd offered an uncertain 'that sounds good' and told Billy he'd call him, but they were both pretty sure he wouldn't. And it sucked, because Sam had had a boyfriend, and now he didn't, and he was lonely and hurting and Dean was still _right there_, and still totally out of reach, and his stupid brother just kept on acting like nothing was wrong.

Was looking at him right now, like nothing was wrong, and asking him to talk to him, to hang out. Sam knew he probably should, hell he even wanted to. Really, really wanted to, but he was missing Billy, and he still wanted Dean just as much as always, and those two things made for a pretty bad combination, and Sam didn't trust himself not to do something stupid.

"Beer?" Dean offered when the silence after his last question became too long for him, and he picked up one of the bottles on the table, and waggled it back and forth enticingly.

Sam narrowed his eyebrows and shook his head once, half in annoyance at Dean's lame attempt to bond without actually calling it that, and half in suspicion. Dean had never offered him alcohol before. He'd drunk one beer in front of Dean, months back, and Dean hadn't exactly called him on it, but he hadn't really approved either. And that time he'd come home drunk from being out with Billy, Dean had been _pissed_. So Sam had to wonder what the catch was.

Dean raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to read Sam's mind, and cocked his head, before he placed his own beer between his thighs, and twisted the cap off Sam's. He flashed the smallest of grins before he snapped his fingers and sent the cap flying straight at Sam's head, and if Sam didn't have such lightening fast reflexes, he'd have gotten hit square between the eyes.

Oh yeah. Dean had _awesome_ aim.

As it was, the cap just grazed him along the temple as he ducked out of the way, but Dean snickered anyway. It was probably going to leave a mark. A small one, but still.

Sam scowled again and pointedly did not touch the side of his head where he could feel the slight sting, but he did glance briefly at the now open bottle of beer. He didn't really want to spend time with Dean just now, but that beer looked pretty tempting.

"Relax, dude," Dean said, the slight upward turn of his lips spreading out almost to a full grin. Sometimes Sam could actually be sort of cute when he was being bitchy. "I'm not gonna tell Dad." Sam still looked unsure, but he took a step closer to Dean, probably without even realising it, and Dean leaned back into the couch, kicking a foot up on the table, the bottle resting on his bent knee while his other hand held his own beer steady.

He let his legs fall open just slightly, and he noticed Sam's eyes drawn down for a few short heartbeats, before they snapped away again, to study the cheap cuckoo clock on the wall next to the television stand. They'd never actually seen the thing in working order, but they liked it. It livened the place up.

Dean cleared his throat and sat up a little bit straighter, bringing his legs together again somewhat stiffly. He wanted Sam to spend some time with him, laugh and talk and lighten up and be his little brother, but he didn't want to seduce him into it. Didn't want to use Sam's feelings, his sexual interest, to get what he wanted. That would be really shitty of him. Not to mention that putting more of those ideas into Sam's head would only put more of a strain on them.

Dean tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind that was telling him that sexual attention from his baby brother was better than no attention at all, because those kinds of thoughts weren't going to lead anywhere good. They were brothers, they were _good_ at being brothers, or had been until recently, and Dean wasn't going to use Sam's confusion to try to get that back.

Not unless he had no other choice, anyway.

"Come on, Sammy," he said, making an effort to keep his voice warm and light, inviting. "These are your Carlsberg years."

Sam frowned, but it didn't last long, soon fading into a mostly neutral expression. Dean supposed it was better than it could have been. "That's Pabst, Dean, and I think my Carlsberg years are about a decade away."

Dean laughed, even though he knew Sam hadn't really meant for him to, and Sam's face moved passed neutral into almost happy, cracking a full smile. He smothered it quickly behind a forced scowl, and he turned his back on Dean once more to put the milk and the orange juice in the fridge, but less than fifteen seconds after Dean sighed quietly and turned his attention back to the television, he felt the dip in the couch as Sam sat down next to him.

He hid his smile behind a sip from his bottle, and let his elbow gently bump into Sam. It was the first time in two weeks that Sam had voluntary gotten this close to him, and at least it was something. They stared at the television in silence for a few minutes, an old episode of Star Trek and Dean snorted and rolled his eyes when Captain Kirk's eyes softened a little around the edges when his attention turned to Spock. God, those two really just needed to fuck and get it out of the way.

Dean didn't say anything when Sam reached over and took the extra bottle of beer from Dean's hand, his fingers brushing over Dean's slightly as he did, but when Sam took a long swallow of it, Dean's eyes followed, and he allowed himself to relax back into the couch again.

Sam was sitting with him, drinking with him, and that would probably make it easier to talk with him. Dean usually did his best to avoid any kind of touchy feely chatting, usually preferred to keep things bottled up, and avoid the sharing of any kind of emotion or personal problem, but Sam didn't work that way. Sam needed to talk things out.

And since what Dean needed was for Sam to be happy, it looked like Dean needed to make adjustments.

Dean waited until he heard Sam laugh at something on the screen, Bones yet again insulting the colour of Spock's blood, and Spock just raising that eyebrow of his, as if to say 'that my blood is green is merely a statement of fact, doctor, and not, as you suggest, something to be ashamed of', before he spoke. And when he did, he dived right it.

"Sam, look," he started, and Sam didn't turn to face him yet, but his jaw ticked, and his head tilted so that Dean knew he was listening. "I know you're upset about moving again. Hell, I am too, but you know we had to. Dad let us stay put for a while, and that was pretty awesome of him, but you know we're always gonna have to move on."

Sure, he could have eased into it, tried to sound a little more sympathetic, because he knew Sam was pretty messed up about losing his first boyfriend, but he was kind of sick of Sam taking it out on him and Dad. It was their life, even if it sucked sometimes, and Sam needed to deal with that. And Dad really had been pretty great about letting them stay in Ann Arbor for almost the entire school year.

"You should be thankful," Dean said, slightly snappish, because Sam really should. "I know you wish we could stay in one place forever, Sam, but we just can't. Dad had to give up a lot of hunts as it was these past months, had to make changes, and adjust his life, and he did it for you, Sam. So cut him a little slack, okay?"

"Why are you always defending him?" Sam asked, raising his voice a little, but doing a really good job of not actually yelling at Dean, like he wanted to. It made him crazy that Dean always stood up for him, always did what he was told, and liked it. Dean bent over backwards to make John happy, to make him proud, make things easier on him, and Sam knew it was stupid, and irrational, and completely fucked up, but he was jealous.

Oh, he knew Dean loved him, he knew Dean would give him anything, do anything to keep him safe, but when it came down to it, between the two of them, it was John's opinion mattered the most to Dean, not Sam's, and it was John's love and approval that he wanted more than anything else in the world.

Sometimes, Sam thought that the only reason Dean even bothered to look after him at all was because John expected it, and not because Dean really cared one way or the other what happened to him. Just once, he wanted to matter to Dean as much as their dad did, because for Sam, it was Dean's attention he craved. It wasn't that he didn't love their father, it wasn't even that he didn't love him as much as Dean. It was just that Dean had always been there for him, when John hadn't, been everything to him, and now that he was in love with him as well, the knowledge that he wasn't loved back like that was a heavy, suffocating weight on his chest.

And it pissed him off.

"God, Dean, if you didn't want to leave either, why didn't you say something? Why do you always fucking think the sun shines out of his ass?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and looked at Sam, hard. "He's doin' what's right, Sammy, and he's doin' the best with us he can. You think his life has been easy? Sunshine and rainbows? He lost his _wife_, Sam. He's been through hell, and he's trying to make sure other people don't have to go through what we did. And he's trying to keep us safe."

There wasn't really as much fire in his voice as he wanted there to be, because Sam was right, in a way. He believed what he was saying about their dad, knew that John really was doing a good thing by hunting, and even though yeah, sometimes Dean admitted that he had dreams, hopes for a future that wasn't the one mapped out for him, he'd accepted his lot in life. John was strong, and brave, and gave up everything to help other people, and Dean could never turn his back on that.

He'd stay with his dad forever, or at least until they were killed, which would probably be sooner, rather than later, considering. He wanted Sam with them too, but Sam had never really fit in, and Dean wasn't kidding himself that Sam wouldn't get out of this shit the first chance he got. It hurt to think about though. A part of him would fall apart without his little brother around.

"You just don't care at all," Sam said, disdainful and hard, and edge of something… pity? in his voice. It would make sense, because there was something in him that really felt bad for Dean sometimes. Sam knew he'd get out one day, but Dean would live this life until it killed him. "That this is our life, running from town to town, risking our lives, never being able to connect with people for longer than a couple of days, being lonely day after day. That this is all it's ever gonna be."

"Sam, I get that you're pissed, and I get that you're hurting, but I didn't decide we had to go. If it was up to me, we'd still be there, so why the hell are you getting so bitchy with _me_? I thought things were okay again. Weren't they?"

Sam looked at Dean then, and stayed quiet for several long seconds. He wasn't wearing any particular expression, just looking, wondering what Dean was thinking, and if he really could have been that clueless. "You really don't get it, do you?" he asked, and shook his head in wonder. He was just now realising that maybe Dean _didn't_ get it, that he never had. "Dean, I'm _in love_ with you."

Dean barely managed not to sigh out loud, though he felt the desire through his body, and he knew his voice came out tired and annoyed. "Sam…" he started, maybe to tell Sam to drop it, or maybe to ask him what that had to do with anything, or more probably to tell him again that he wasn't really, and Sam was just confused, but Sam interrupted, saving him from having to decide which.

"No, shut up," Sam said, his voice taking on a determined edge, and he sat up straighter, turning to face Dean full on. He was tired of hiding, of pretending this thing he felt didn't exist, and Dean needed to hear it. To keep hearing it until he got it. "I am. And yeah, I know, it's twisted and it's wrong and you don't feel it back, but you know what Dean? I don't care. I feel it anyway. I always feel it. And it's times like this, when we're both alone, both _lonely_, and all we have is each other, that I just don't get… I don't get why we can't."

Dean ground his teeth together and turned his head away, leant forward to slam his almost empty bottle of beer down on the table. Fuck, why could Sam not just let this go? Sure, it was his idea to talk tonight, but he'd honestly thought that, even if Sam hadn't gotten over his crush, that he wasn't going to bring that up again. He'd really thought that this mood was just about moving, and leaving Billy behind, and at least that was something Dean could talk with him about. He was sort of in the same place, though he knew Sam had been more invested in his last relationship than Dean had.

Sam was young, had just started dating, and Billy had been his first. It would get easier for him as he got older, got used to it, and that thought, right there, of Sam having to get used to either solitude or heartbreak, was sharp and hot in his chest. He was still pissed off though, about Sam's refusal to take 'no' for an answer, and he twisted his pain at Sam's misery into anger, and lashed out.

"Why are you so desperate for cock all of a sudden?" Dean asked, the words sounding and tasting bitter on his tongue. "Shit, you've only gone without for a couple of weeks, and now you're suddenly so hard up that we're back to this?" It was unfair and completely shitty for him to say that, to put it that way, implying that Sam didn't care about anything but his dick, but he was angry, and it just slipped out. And hell, maybe if he was enough of a dick, it would shake something back into place inside Sam's head, and he'd get over whatever the hell it was that was making Dean look like Pamela Anderson to him.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Sam snarled, making a face. "And we're not _back_ to it, Dean. We never left. I told you how I felt, and you know it never went away."

"I thought you were happy with Billy." He'd really thought Sam _had_ been happy, and that it would help to work these inappropriate feelings out of Sam's system. And more than that, the idea that Sam had been happy, even temporarily, that he'd had a relationship, a good one, a real one, made things make a little more sense to Dean, made everything just a little bit more okay.

Because if Sam was happy, Dean was happy.

"I was," Sam answered, shrugged. "But that didn't stop me from thinking about you."

Dean sat there, quiet for a moment, and thought about what he could really say to that. Obviously, telling Sam that he didn't mean it, that his feelings weren't real, and just a result of being lonely wasn't working. Maybe Sam really was in love with him, and maybe he wasn't, but brushing off Sam's emotions was not only getting him nowhere, it was downright insulting.

"And it's not just 'cause I'm horny, Dean," he said. " I'm not suddenly deciding I want you because I'm going through some kind of dry spell. I mean, it wasn't like Billy and I were all over each other all the time, anyway. We didn't even really fool around all that often. And we went longer than two weeks without messing around sometimes, so it's really not that."

Dean raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Sam, I came home and found you guys fucking, twice, and that was only the times that I happened to show up, and you happened to not to notice, so you couldn't get dressed and pretend that you were doing your homework." He quirked a grin, actually enjoying the idea of Sam hearing him come in, and rushing to pretend that he hadn't just been fucking his boyfriend. "The two of you had plenty of time to go at it when I wasn't home, too. Not that there's anything wrong with having lots of sex…" Dean trailed off, smiling a little bit, though it was it was tense. Sam didn't smile back.

"We never had sex," Sam admitted, his eyes drifting down to the couch between them. It was embarrassing, because he knew Dean thought they'd done it a long time ago, and if he was ever going to correct him, it should have been back then. Now Dean would know that he'd tried to hide it, that he wanted him to think he'd been getting laid, even though he hadn't been.

Dean frowned thoughtfully, trying to look into Sam's face, but it was still turned down. "But… I saw you."

"You saw what you wanted to see," Sam corrected him, shaking his head. "Yeah, we did other stuff, but we didn't fuck. I've never… It's never gone as far as you think. Not… not really far at all." Well, there the handjobs, and the rubbing off on each other, and they'd given each other exactly one blow job each, so it wasn't like that was _nothing_. But there had never been any sort of hint and anything like anal penetration, not even with a finger, and they'd never actually gotten as far as seeing each other completely naked.

He figured that probably, over all the times of pants being yanked down, and shirts being removed, or pushed up, that they'd seen all of each other, and could, if they thought about it for half a second, put together a kind of mental collage, but it wasn't exactly the same, Sam didn't think, as seeing it all at once.

"Never?" Dean asked, but his face was pulled and scrunched, disbelieving, because he'd been pretty sure about what he'd seen, Billy on top of Sam under the blankets, both of them naked, Sam's legs bent and Billy thrusting between them. And if Sam was telling the truth about them never having sex, Dean just didn't get it. Sam was hot. Billy was hot. They were teenagers, and they were _guys_. Why the hell wouldn't they be fucking like bunnies?

"Don't look at me like that!" Sam bit, tense and embarrassed.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a freak, just because I haven't had sex yet. I'm not!"

"I never said you were!" Dean insisted, overcompensating, and perhaps raising his voice a bit too much, because the last thing he wanted was for Sam to think that Dean thought there was something wrong with him.

Only, Dean kind of thought he was a freak, a little bit. Yeah, okay, people became sexually aware and active at different ages, and developed at different rates, but hell, Sam was a Winchester. He was 16 years old now, and apparently he'd still never gotten laid. Dean had lost it when he was 14, the girl he was with a couple of years older, and trying to make her boyfriend jealous, and since then, Dean had sometimes gone a few weeks, maybe even a month without getting any, but he was never exactly hard up, and took advantage of a good many of the opportunities that came his way.

He just had a hard time imagining someone going 16 years without getting that far. He tried really hard to remind himself that there was nothing wrong with that, and in fact he was probably the freak, because most people were a lot more like Sam. Not everyone had to prove their manhood by jumping into bed with the first person that was willing.

Apparently Sam thought the same thing.

"Just because you're willing to stick your cock into anything that looks good in a pair of Levi's, doesn't mean I'm that much of a slut," he said, and Dean winced, because yeah, that was true. Dean liked sex. Liked casual sex a lot, and the people he was with did too. There was nothing wrong with that. But there sure as fuck was nothing wrong with Sam just because he didn't look at sex the same way Dean did. "I can't… I just don't want to do that with someone I don't love."

"Didn't you?" Dean asked, if not changing the subject, then at least bending it, and honestly curious. "Love him?"

Sam puffed out a breath, his shoulders sagging, and put his own drink down next to Dean's on the table. "I don't know," he answered honestly, because he really didn't know. He'd felt things for Billy, really liked him, and being with him always made Sam happy, emotionally as well as physically, but had he loved him? "Maybe," he didn't quite decide. "But not as much as I love you."

"Sammy…"

"Please, Dean," he sighed, and didn't even really know what he was asking for. He moved closer, pulling his legs up so that he was resting his ass on his heels, the new position making him and Dean the same height, and Sam knew he wasn't done growing yet, and someday, even soon, he'd be taller. That would be awesome.

Dean didn't move when Sam shifted, didn't look at Sam, and tried hard to keep his breathing steady, and not admit that he knew exactly what was going to happen next. Because it was wrong, and it was sick, and fuck, Sam could just _not_ be that stupid. He was supposed to be the smart one! You'd think he would be smart enough to know that incest is wrong, but it looked like he'd missed that lesson in whatever the hell class at school they taught shit like that.

It took a while, like Sam was giving Dean all the chances in the world to back out, or stop him, or get up and leave and call him a huge freak, but Dean didn't. He couldn't. He'd tried that before, and it hadn't gone well. So he did nothing. He didn't stop Sam, just closed his eyes and tried not to scream, or cry, or push Sam away so hard he landed on his ass on the floor.

But he didn't respond either. He didn't turn towards Sam until Sam's slight hand, long bony fingers and huge, flat palm settled on Dean's chin and guided his head around so they were facing each other. He didn't touch Sam back when Sam moved the hand he'd just used to position Dean's face to his leg, fingers curving over his thigh, and Sam's other hand rested flat on his stomach.

And honestly, he wasn't sure if he just didn't want to move, one way or the other, or if he physically _couldn't_.

"I want to do it with you, Dean," Sam told him, softly. "That's what I've always wanted. Before anyone else, before all this, even before you knew. I've always wanted it to be you. Billy's gone, and so's Abby, and it's just us now."

"And because of that, you think it's a good idea to start fucking?" Dean demanded, incredulous. He was half worried about Sam's social adjustment, and half insulted that he was Sam's back-up plan, when he had to dump his boyfriend. "God, Sam, I know you've had a hard life, but dude, you are _damaged_."

"No, Dean not because of that." And it wasn't really, but that was probably the only reason he could give Dean that might get him to agree to it. For Sam, it was about more. More than Dean could understand, and certainly more than he'd feel comfortable with. "I love you, and I want to be close to you. I'm attracted to you, and I want…"

"That's cause you're a kid, and I'm your big brother. It's normal to… well, okay, not to want to fuck me, but… to look up to me."

"Don't flatter yourself," Sam said, mouth tightening in distaste. "I don't look up to you. I don't want to be anything like you." Sam swallowed down the feeling of nausea rising up in him at the words, because it wasn't true, not really. He didn't want to be like Dean, didn't want this life for himself, and didn't _want_ to want it. He wasn't a huge fan of the way that Dean just mindlessly did whatever Dad told them to, and he enjoyed even less the way Dean shamelessly flirted and fucked his way through every available body that crossed his path, but there were a lot of things about Dean that he really did admire.

He wasn't going to tell him what any of them were, though. Dean was a little too in love with himself as it was. He didn't need any more fuel for that particular fire.

Dean visibly flinched at Sam's words, but he recovered quickly, and Sam didn't call him on it. It stung. Mostly because Dean almost believed him.

"I just… love you," Sam said, simply. And it really was that simple. At least to him. "And I want to touch you. And it has nothing to do with you being my brother. And we're all we've got, Dean. The only relationships that aren't going to end. So how can this be wrong?"

"Sammy," Dean said, and let one of his legs move, brushing up against Sam's knee, wanting the physical contact just as much as he knew Sam did. It made everything easier, better, even if he knew it probably wasn't a good idea. "Every relationship you make at this point in your life is going to end." Dean told him, trying to impart whatever shoddy wisdom he'd gained from his own adolescence, being dragged around the country and leaving people behind.

He was completely right of course, and he kind of wished their dad would have cared enough to be around for shit like this. To talk to Sam the way he never talked to Dean. But hell, at least Sam had Dean. Dean had had to figure things out for himself.

"Wouldn't have mattered if we'd stayed in Lawrence our whole lives. No matter how much you think you like someone, no matter how much you think you have in common… you're 16, Sam. Who you meet now… it's not gonna be forever, boyfriends, girlfriends, friends… they're not gonna last. Nobody is. Not until you get older."

It was harsh, but it was honest. Even normal people, with normal lives tended to go through relationships like Pringles. Sure, there were some that lasted longer than others, but in the end, teenage connections didn't go much beyond the first year after high school. The real connections came after that, when you found out something real about someone.

Not for the first time, Sam seemed to have already gotten there.

"You're gonna last," he said, and yeah, Dean had pretty much proved his entire point for him.

"Sam…"

"But you are! You're the only one who is. The only one I know, for sure is gonna be there."

"You don't even know that," Dean said, thoughts of how dangerous their life is, flooding his head, and how there was a damn good chance Dean might not come home at night, or in the morning or anytime after he went out hunting. He wasn't as good as John, though he tried damn hard to be. "I might not be here."

"Better chance than anyone else."

"Oh, well, that's a good reason to spread for someone." And Dean immediately cringed, because he'd said a lot of calloused things to Sam, but he'd promised himself that he'd stop. That wasn't stopping, that was making it worse.

"Who said I wanted to spread?!" Sam almost shrieked, indignant and surprised, pulling in on himself a little, but not moving away from Dean. He couldn't bring himself to. But hell, he could have wanted to do the fucking. He didn't, but he could have. "And anyway, jerk, that's not the reason. I just… want you, okay? And if you and Dad can't get over yourselves enough to let me live my life, to let me have a chance to actually form a connection with someone, then you owe me, Dean. I can't be alone anymore."

_Not that again_, Dean thought and rolled his eyes. "We were in the same place for 6 months, Sammy. You weren't alone. You had somebody."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "And now he's gone! Or… I'm gone. Whatever. But even when I was with him, I knew I was leaving, and that was always hanging over me. And… and he wasn't you."

"Sam, fuck, I'm _begging_ you, little brother. You gotta let this go."

"Dean…" Sam hedged, trying to sound more nervous than he actually was, because he thought it would make Dean more giving, more malleable. "I could be good for you. Give you what you want."

Dean groaned as Sam leaned closer. No, Sam really, really couldn't. Because what he wanted was the old Sam back, the Sam who was still a kid, and didn't know what a dick was for besides taking a piss, and who wasn't lusting after his brother, and not fucking letting it go.

Sam closed the distance between them quickly, without ceremony, and kissed Dean, gently at first, and Dean stayed still, closed his eyes. Sam didn't exactly take that as a good sign, but it couldn't be all that bad either, so he deepened the kiss, tentatively at first, lips opening over Dean's, tongue snaking out.

Dean didn't kiss back, but he let Sam do what he wanted, so Sam used more force, slipped his tongue between Dean's lips, across his teeth and into his mouth, brushing lightly over Dean's own. After a few more seconds without Dean punching him in the nose, he pulled back.

"That wasn't so bad," he told Dean, but it sounded like a question, and it came out kind of pained, voice laced with the sting of rejection. Dean had let him use his mouth, but he hadn't made any move to reciprocate. "Was it?"

Dean didn't answer, swallowed audibly and opened his eyes again. He was almost shaking, and this whole thing was killing him, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Sam, but that seemed to be all he could manage right now.

"Sam," he said, the tears in his voice, if not on his face, clear to both of them. "You're my little brother, and I will do _anything_ for you. But please, _please_ don't make me do this."

"Whatever," Sam said, tensing and pulling back, the word breaking as tears started to form in his eyes. He got up off the couch and moved to the bed, lying down it and facing away from Dean, cursing their stupid motel for not having more than one room, so he could move away, hide. He didn't bother with a blanket, because that would just have made him look weak, and wrapped his arms around his body, and tried not to cry.

He hadn't even wanted to have this talk with Dean, really hadn't intended to throw himself at him again, and the desperation in Dean's voice as he begged Sam not to touch him was like a punch to the gut, winding him and causing a deep, hollow ache.

Sam still wasn't ready to give up on Dean, didn't think he'd ever get over how he felt, but maybe Dean was right. Maybe it was time for Sam to start being more social, meeting people and not worrying about how long it might last, because if he didn't, waiting for Dean to realise what Sam had realised years ago, was going to be damn lonely.

The thought of being with anyone besides Dean made him feel vaguely ill, but he'd get over that. Probably.

Sam was still awake two hours later when Dean shut off the television and crawled into the bed next to him, careful not to touch as he rolled onto his side, and when his breathing eventually evened out, Sam managed to fall into a dreamless sleep.

***

Two weeks later, when Dean and Sam got into the mother of all fights about Sam's sex life, neither of them was really surprised about how things turned out.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 12 - Dean/OMC, Sam/OMC, Dean/Sam. Dean catches Sam with a guy. An older guy. Or two. It's unpleasant for everyone, really, but Dean most of all. The Wincest is finally here! Woot! But, uh… this chapter is darker than most, with some underage sex, and violence and... stuff. So if you were expecting sunshine and kittens when Sam and Dean finally got together… sorry!

***

The first time that Dean sexually molested his underage brother, he could almost blame Sam for it.

Not because Sam had wanted it, which he had, and not because Sam had begged him for it, unrelenting and determined, practically throwing himself onto Dean's cock several times, which he also had. It wasn't because Sam had worn Dean down, won him over with persistence and those damn pretty eyes of his, or those hands on his arms, or legs or stomach as Sam pushed for something he'd wanted for a long time.

It wasn't because Sam was getting taller now, his eyes getting even bigger and his features more defined, his muscles longer and leaner, and it wasn't because Sam was… well, okay, Sam was starting to get downright fucking _hot_. It wasn't because Dean really wanted to do it, and sure as fuck wasn't because he'd suddenly started to return Sam's twisted feelings toward him. Because he loved Sam, wholly and unconditionally, but there was no way in hell he was ever going to _love_ Sam.

No, it was because Sam had pissed him off so fucking much that Dean figured he was suffering from temporary insanity, and therefore couldn't really be held responsible for his actions.

It wasn't his fault. It really wasn't. It was Sam's.

And Dean could almost believe that, at least the first time. At least when it started.

***

He'd been out, hustling pool at the bar down on the corner. He'd won over three hundred bucks from some cocky prep school type, barely older than Sam. But he was clearly partying on Daddy's dime before college started up in the fall, dressed too nice for the dive he was in, and drinking imported beer that he wasn't old enough to order, so Dean didn't feel bad at all about taking him for all the cash he had. And his watch.

And anyway, the kid still had plastic in his wallet, and his car outside. Dean had let him keep those, which was pretty damn nice of him, he thought.

Apparently the kid thought so too, because when he'd retired to the bar, sitting on a hard, wooden stool, and flirting shamelessly, and uselessly with Linda, his waitress (she'd told she was married, and really, Dean respected that shit, so he wasn't actually planning on taking her home. Or out back, or to the backseat of his car…), she slid a beer his way. A beer that he hadn't ordered, while he was still working on his double of Jack, and when he raised a questioning eyebrow at her, following it up with a lascivious waggle, she snorted, and rolled her eyes.

"Pretty boy at the end of the bar," she told him, grinning and turning away, and Dean turned his head to find Prep School Boy sitting by himself, hands cupping the bottle in front of him, resting on the scuffed wood of the bar, and he was looking up at Dean tentatively, through lowered lashes.

The kid was kind of a jackass, pompous, and way more sure of himself than he ought to be, but he was cute. A little too twink for Dean's usual tastes, but he hadn't gotten any since Abby, almost a month ago, and the kid looked kind of shy, eager to please. He'd probably be fun.

Dean hid a smile, but he couldn't hide the way he licked his lips when their eyes met, and though there was something about hooking up with someone, some _boy_, a few years younger than him that made him feel vaguely dirty, he let his mouth quirk up at the corner, and tilted his head in the direction of the back exit.

The boy stood up so fast that he bumped his knees against the bottom of the counter, and Dean snickered to himself as the guy winced, probably swore, and looked up at Dean again, red-faced and doe-eyed.

"Back in a few, baby," Dean told Linda, smiling his most winning smile, and standing up tall on his side of the bar. "Watch my beer."

Linda smiled back, but kindly, and lowered her voice. "Go easy on him," she said. "He's been coming here a week, him and his friends, and he's never bought anyone a drink before."

"Yeah," Dean said in understanding. Kid was obviously looking to cross some lines for the first time, with some anonymous stranger, and it wasn't like Dean hadn't ever been anyone's first before. And he couldn't argue with the tightness in his pants, and the way his heart rate picked up, when the guy brushed past him on his way out the back door.

It was good to be indiscriminate as far as sexual partners went. It meant that he had practically the whole world to choose from, and mostly, that was awesome.

***

He was still grinning to himself, and licking his lips, twenty minutes later, beer forgotten on the bar, and looking forward to a relaxing rest of the evening in the motel room with his little brother, drinking root beer and bitching about how Dad had left them both home on this one.

He'd fucked the kid, and it had been _awesome_, up against the rough brickwork of the wall out back, tight heat of the kid's ass clenching down around him while he jerked him off. He'd blown the boy first, though. Fuck, Dean loved doing that, and he didn't get the chance as often as he'd like. And the kid was so fuckin' new, and so damn cute, and Dean just couldn't resist.

So he'd sunk to his knees, not bothering to hide his smirk at the kid's wide eyes, and he'd swallowed him down, working furiously, hard and fast, until he came, pungent tang of his release flooding Dean's mouth.

Dean had spared him a quick kiss, pressing his own flavour back into his mouth, before he'd turned him around and taken what he'd wanted. He'd been slow, because even though the kid didn't say, Dean knew it was his first time.

He'd been gentle, and accommodating, to the point of thinking he was turning into a woman, but it had all been worth it when he'd finally slid home, wrapped in a condom and balls deep inside such a young, pretty boy. And okay, he was probably going to hell for it, but the kid wanted it, and so did Dean, and it had been freakin' fantastic.

He was still so busy playing back the memory of a good night that would soon fade to pleasant nothingness, that he almost missed the unmissable sight that greeted him when he rounded the sharp corner to the row of rooms that made up their motel block, and into the dark shadows of the unlighted path outside their door.

***

"Shit yeah, little boy," was the first thing Dean heard, the voice hoarse and dirty, in a completely unattractive way, and kind of making Dean want to throw up, even before he actually saw what was happening. And then he blinked and shook his head, focusing his vision, narrowing his eyes, his pupils widening in the dark to take in more of the scene, and then…

Then Dean still wanted to throw up, but that would have to wait until he'd committed double homicide.

There was Sam. His baby brother, Sam, only sixteen years old, and on his knees, eyes squeezed shut tight, and practically choking on cock.

There was someone else, someone older. Much older. Probably pushing forty, dressed in denim and leather, hair too long at the back, neck covered in tattoos and pants down around his thighs. He was hot, Dean thought in an objective sort of way, so he had to give Sam credit for that at least, but… _fuck_!

His hand was on the back of Sam's head, gripping his hair tight, and guiding him, pulling him up and down, lips trailing wetly along his shaft, and Sam was staying very, very quiet, while the man made loud, vulgar noises, encouraging him.

"Fuck, oh, fuck," the guy said, words coming out on grunts as he drove his hips forward. "Right there, kid. Fuck, yeah."

Dean stepped forward, only just then realising that he'd been frozen in place by the sight in front of him, and very, very ready to kill. He'd never killed a human before, and he didn't think he ever would have, but right now? Yeah, right now he was pretty damn okay with it.

He swallowed down the slight fluttering, sick feeling in his stomach that came when he remembered that he'd said almost the exact same things to some other teenage boy, less than thirty minutes ago. This was different. This was _Sam_.

And after he took that first step, and then the next, the barely sufficient lighting in the lane changed slightly, streetlights from a few blocks over illuminating new things with every inch he moved, he saw something else.

Another man.

Standing next to the guy getting sucked off by his fucking baby brother, leaning against the same wall, pants shoved down with his dick out, jerking it slowly, lazily, in his calloused, greasy palm, staring down at the way the first guy's cock was sliding in and out of Sam's swollen lips, eyes hooded and grinning a disgusting grin.

The goddamned son of a fucking bitch was waiting his turn. Waiting his _fucking_ turn! To fuck Dean's little brother in the mouth.

Yeah, that _so_ wasn't going to happen.

Dean strode forward, feet almost flying across the sidewalk as his long legs made short work of the distance between him and Sam, and none of them, not Sam, not Mr. Big Dick, or his perverted friend, none of them saw it coming. He put his own hand on the back of Sam's head, covering the other guy's hand, squeezing it really fucking hard, really fucking quickly, and the guy's head snapped up, and his grip on Sam's hair loosened, more results of the shock of the sudden contact than any real pain it had caused.

No, the pain was still on its way.

Dean's hand shifted then, sliding into Sam's hair, fingers curling tight, and he gave a sharp warning tug as the guy in front of them stammered out, "What the…", before he yanked, hard, sending Sam sprawling out onto the cement, landing on his ass with a dull thud.

It probably hurt, and Dean was glad it did. Served the stupid little bastard right. He _should_ get hurt for this. And that warning tug hadn't been for Sam's benefit. He was kind of hoping he would have startled Sam into biting the guy's dick off. No such luck. But Dean still had his fists. And his gun.

He didn't bother looking back at Sam, but he could feel Sam's eyes on the back of his head, could picture his mouth, opening in shock and humiliation, and he balled his right hand up in a fist and pulled it back, snapped it forward into the guy's nose so quickly that he couldn't possibly have seen it coming, couldn't possibly have defended himself.

Not when his brain was probably somewhere in the vicinity of his balls.

Actually, thinking about this jerk-off's balls gave Dean an idea, and he smirked at the guy, who was cupping his nose with one hand and giving Dean a puzzled and pissed off look, like he didn't know where the hell he'd come from, or what the hell he thought he was doing.

His knee came up, just as quick, quicker even, than his fist had been, and judging by the look on the guy's face, eyebrows raised up into his hairline, he'd lodged those fucking ugly-ass balls of his so far inside him that he was choking on them. Good.

"What the FUCK?!" Dean yelled, and the guy that wasn't currently hunched over, hands cupping his groin protectively in a futile attempt to get the pain to stop, stepped away, and hurriedly tucked himself back in his pants. It didn't take long, only a few seconds, before the first guy, the bigger guy, stood up straight again, tucking himself away, his face contorted in anger now, as well as pain, and he took a step closer to Dean.

He was bigger than Dean. Both the guys were, and guy number one clearly thought they could kick his ass, even despite Dean's early lead, because Dean wasn't short, not by a long shot, but he was skinny. Wasn't really his fault. He was working on it. Working out, and eating more than his fair share, and he'd put on the weight soon enough, actually start to look like the threat he really was.

But hey, being misjudged worked to his advantage more often then not, so he wasn't really complaining now.

"Did you two perverts know that this kid," he kept on shouting, ignoring the guy coming at him, and gesturing vaguely to Sam behind him, listening as Sam shuffled a bit, probably getting to his feet, finally. "Is _sixteen_ fucking years old? What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Dean…" Sam said, his voice slight and timid, and Dean _growled_, but he didn't turn around. Sam stopped talking.

Ugly Balls snarled at Dean, blood staining his front teeth, and he made to throw a punch, pulling his fist back, and letting it fly. It was a good thing it didn't connect. Because the guy was kind of slow, and clumsy, but he was _big_, and he looked strong, and it would have done some pretty serious damage, and messed up Dean's perfect face, and that would have been a damn shame.

So it was pretty convenient that he was slow enough for Dean to dodge, and then send another two punches in quick succession to the guy's ribs.

Then the guy yelled, low and deep, the sound vibrating through the night air between them, a kind of a battle cry, and Dean knew he was in trouble. Sure, he could take him, maybe even his friend too, but not if he had to watch out for Sammy as well.

So, Dean took a half step back, steady and with purpose, not letting his eyes leave Ugly Balls' face. He kept his gaze, hard and determined and dangerous, even though he was trying to hide the fact that he was shaking like a fucking leaf, because _fuck_. He'd never done this before. Never even thought about it, except in that abstract way where he looked cool, felt cool, scared off the bad guys and saved the day.

In his vague imaginings, it wasn't ever like it actually felt, right now.

He reached his hand behind him, lifted up the back of his brown leather jacket, slow enough that Ugly Balls could see exactly what he was doing, so he could guess what he was reaching for. And apparently the guy did, because his eyes went wide, and he moved back, hands up in front of him in a placating gesture, in _surrender_, even before Dean gripped his gun tight by the handle, and pulled it forward, cocking it and aiming it squarely at the guy's chest.

Ugly Balls must have seen the slight tremor in Dean's arms. Either that, or his friend nudging him in the side, and mumbling something about 'get the fuck outta here' spurred him into action, made him capable of more than cowardly stiffness, gave him back some of his confidence.

Because he smirked at Dean, again, even with a gun on him, and lowered his hands. "Fucking crazy ass son of a bitch," he said, but his voice was low enough that Dean knew he was still scared, even if he was trying not to show it. Good, because Dean had no idea what he'd do if he was faced with having to actually _use_ his gun on someone.

On a _person_.

And he would, too. For Sammy, he fuckin' would.

"Your boyfriend's not worth this shit, anyway," Ugly Balls said, shooting a disdainful look at Sam, who thankfully was staying put behind Dean, and it made Dean's finger twitch on the trigger. "Got a lot to learn, that kid does. You should give him some more practice. You'll never make any money off that shit he was passing off as head."

"Get the fuck out of here," Dean hissed, second hand coming up to cup his first around the gun, steady it, and take better aim. He almost hoped the guy would give him a reason.

Ugly Balls' friend, the younger and smaller of the two, was already backing up, and Ugly Balls spared Dean one last snarl, before turning his attention to Sam, licking his tongue over his teeth, swiping some of the blood that was still there, and looking him up and down.

Dean was sort of expecting him to blow Sam some kind of fucked-up, sarcastic kiss, but he just laughed, and shook his head. Muttered, "Fuckin' psycho jealous boyfriends," and backed away with his friend, out of the shadows and around the corner.

Dean stayed where he was, still pointing his gun in the direction the two men had disappeared, for several long seconds after they were gone. Finally, slowly, he dropped his arm, uncocked the gun and stuffed it back in his pants, the weight and cold of the steel against his lower back comforting.

Then he turned, toward Sam, toward his little brother, who'd been sucking off some shithead stranger, and planning on doing it to another, and Dean wanted to kill him, too. Couldn't even look at him, not just then. He knew, on a strictly intellectual level that he was being kind of a hypocrite, because it wasn't like Dean didn't blow strangers, or fuck them in allies, and it wasn't like Dean hadn't been with much older guys, or younger ones.

But Sam was his fucking _little brother_, for fuck's sake, and it was Dean's job to look after him, and this shit was dangerous. Those guys had been assholes, taking advantage of him, and they could have hurt him, and sure, Dean had taken advantage a few times himself, but he was always nice about it, and he'd _never_ hurt anyone, or made them do something they didn't want to.

Dean shivered, trying not to think about what would have happened to Sam if he hadn't shown up when he did.

"Dean, I…" Sam started, and Dean's eyes snapped from the ground next to Sam's feet, up to Sam's face, anger and worry flashing there briefly before he looked away again, to the door leading into their room. Sam swallowed, loudly and took a shaky breath. "I'm… I'm sorry. I…"

Sam wanted to pretend that he was angry, and he sort of was, because Dean had interrupted something that was none of his business. But he also _was_ sorry. Because he knew that what he'd been doing was stupid. He'd done it anyway, because those men had been nice.

He'd met them at the burger joint down the road, and they'd talked for over an hour, and they'd laughed with him and smiled at him, and they'd been kind, and told him he was cute and they'd wanted him.

And Sam had told himself, after the last, the final time he'd put himself out there, begged Dean for what he wanted, and been shot down, that he was going to move on. There was no sense in sitting around pining when Dean might not ever see what Sam knew existed between them. Not when other people, damn good looking people, were interested in him.

Still, they were a hole lot older, and even if they hadn't been, it wasn't a really good idea to take strangers home, Sam knew that, and especially not two at once. He knew it was stupid, and then when he'd seen Dean's face…

When he heard Dean's voice, full of rage and barely hanging on to sanity, saw the way he levelled his gun at them, the hardness in his eyes when his finger squeezed just a little bit on the trigger, close, so close to…

Yeah, then Sam _really_ knew he'd done something stupid, because he'd never seen Dean that angry before. Ever. And Sam knew it was out of worry, out of concern, but that didn't mean Dean still wouldn't kick his ass for it. So yeah, he was sorry.

Dean ignored him and moved to the door, trying a few times to fit his key into the lock, still shaking so much from recent events that he wasn't quite able to manage it as fluidly as he'd have liked, and then he pushed the door open, leaving it wide open behind him, for Sam to follow, when he stepped through.

Sam followed.

Dean flicked on the light and looked around, sighing, not heavy or resigned, more to catch his breath, like he was thinking about something, and his eyes flitted around the space. He moved quickly, long strides across the room and into the bathroom, and Sam heard some shuffling, clattering, and a few seconds later, Dean came out with his duffle bag, and started to toss his clothes inside it.

"Dean, what…"

"Pack your bag," Dean ordered, cutting him off, and Sam just stared at him for the few seconds it took Dean to pack his own. And then a few seconds more, while he looked worriedly at the walls.

Dean finished stuffing all of his clothing, and whatever their dad had left behind when he'd took off two days ago, into his bag, and then scanned the room again, thinking. Shit. Dad's stupid stuff was all over the stupid walls, like it always was. Why couldn't the freak just keep fucking notebooks, or folders or some shit? Why did he have to make it so hard to get the hell out of somewhere in a hurry?

He started on one end of the wall, pulling down the pictures, newspaper clippings, scrawled notes and the occasional chart. He tried to keep in some semblance of order, but honestly that wouldn't matter much. He was still going to catch hell for this. For messing up Dad's stuff, for leaving town last minute like this, in the middle of a hunt, when John had things set up just the way he wanted them.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"Sam," Dean growled, and he shot him a quick glance, before getting back to organising the papers. "Get your fucking bag packed. And get in the fucking car."

His tone was final enough that Sam didn't argue any more, just did what Dean said, and less than five minutes later they were sitting in the Impala and on their way. On their way where, Dean had no fucking clue, but they sure as hell couldn't stick around this town any longer.

Dean didn't even waste time checking out of the motel. Not that it mattered. They'd just end up charging it J. Garcia's credit card anyway, and Dean planned on ditching that before they got to their next stop.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, quiet, almost afraid, after a few minutes.

"We're getting the hell out of here."

"Why? Cause of those guys?" Sam asked, even though there really couldn't be another reason. Still… "You scared them off. It's not like we had to leave town."

"Yeah, until they come back with their friends. They know where we were staying, and they know we were alone. Fuck, Sammy, what were you thinking?" Dean clenched his teeth together and tried to breathe evenly, tried not to drive them off the road in a fit of blind rage. Now was really not the best time for this conversation. He honestly wasn't sure he could handle knowing what Sam had been thinking at the moment. He was already pissed off, and worried, and trying to keep his eyes on the road, and wondering what the fuck he was gonna tell Dad. "You know what? Never mind. I don't want to know."

He called John a few minutes later, when he saw a road sign announcing that Highland Springs was coming up in about thirty miles, and figured it would be as good a place as any to stop. Not too far from where they were hunting, but far enough from where they'd been that they probably wouldn't run into Ugly Balls and his friend.

He made up some bullshit story about him getting into a bar fight and getting run out of town, which wasn't all that far from the truth. Dean _had_ gotten into a fight, and that's really why they'd had to leave. He just didn't tell John what the fight had been about.

John didn't yell, just sighed, like he was disappointed, but not surprised, and told him that Sam better be okay. Like what Dean had done had put his little brother in danger somehow, and just… fuck that. Because Dean would never do anything that might hurt Sam, but, yeah. He couldn't say any of that to John.

He just told him, "Yes, sir. Sorry," the words short and tight, and listed to John give him the name of a motel, and told him he'd meet up with them in the morning.

He hung up the phone, cursing, and tossing it into the backseat, and the next twenty minutes passed in silence.

Sam broke it with a quiet cough, and a tentative, slightly pouty, "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?" Dean asked, eyes squarely on the road in front of him as he pulled off the interstate to find their new motel. He still wasn't really in the mood to talk to Sam. Not until they were out of the car, and he had enough time and space to shove his foot up Sam's ass.

"Take the blame like that. Tell Dad it was your fault we had to leave."

Dean shot him an unreadable look. "It was. I'm the one who got into a fight, Sam."

"Yeah, but it was because of me." Why the hell did Dean have to blame himself for everything? Sam had made his own decisions. Stupid ones, but still. And Dean was only trying to help him out. None of this was Dean's fault.

"So… what? I'm supposed to tell Dad that I pulled a gun on a couple of bikers because my little brother was suck-". He cut himself off abruptly, slamming his open palm on the steering wheel. "I did something I shouldn't have, Sam. Just drop it."

When they got where they were going, some 'hooker inn' called the 'Blue Moon', letters flashing in bright _red_ neon, which Dean thought was almost funny enough to make him laugh, Dean lost it.

The checked in, got their shit from the car, and walked the path to their room without a word, and once they got inside, and Dean carefully put John's notes down on the table by the window, he spun around, catching Sam by surprise, and slamming him back against the closed door.

"What the fuck?" he demanded, finally feeling secure enough to take out his anger on his brother. They were somewhere safe, alone with the door looked behind them, and nothing was coming after them. They were fine, and now Dean could kill him.

Sam flinched back at Dean's sudden outburst, but Dean didn't let up. Sam blinked, then, wondering at Dean's change in attitude. He'd been blaming himself for the whole thing not half and hour ago, and now he looked really pissed off again. "What?"

"Seriously?" Dean spat, hand balling up tight in Sam's shirt, fist clenched so hard that his knuckles were turning white, and Sam thought he might actually rip his shirt right off. Not that Sam would normally have a problem with Dean ripping his clothes off, but it was kind of scary right now, too. "Two guys at a fuckin' time, Sam? And more than twice your age? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sam sighed and looked down to Dean's chest, words coming out hushed, like even though he'd told Dean how he felt about a hundred times, it was suddenly hard for him to admit it. "You told me let it go," he confessed, and it hurt all over to say it out loud. "This thing between us. This is how I do that."

"Does it work?" Dean asked, ignoring whatever 'thing' it was that Sam was referring to, because there wasn't a 'thing'. Sam had a 'thing', but _they_ didn't have a 'thing'. Not that it mattered, because even if it did, there was no way in hell he was letting brother get away with shit like that.

"No," Sam admitted, shaking his head once, and looking back up at Dean's face. "But it helps. They wanted me. Liked me."

Dean grunted in exasperation and thumped the door over Sam's head with his free hand, pushed the hand that was holding Sam's shirt hard against his chest before letting go and stepping back. Sam crumpled slightly without Dean's strength holding him up, and he sucked in a heavy breath, coughing a little. Dean could get a bit suffocating, sometimes.

"They didn't fucking like you, Sam," Dean said, hand coming up to run through his hair hurriedly, stupid little tick to work out his frustration without actually punching his little brother in the face. "What they liked, was your sweet little boy lips!"

Sam took a few steps forward, following after Dean, but made sure to stay at arms length. He honestly wouldn't put it past Dean to hit him. He hadn't yet, ever, but Sam figured it was just a matter of time, and of Sam pushing him enough. "Well at least someone does. At least it's something."

"Fuck, Sam…" Dean snapped forward, grabbed him, pushed him, moved them both so they were standing just next to one of the beds, the backs of Sam's legs bumping against the cheap metal frame, and Dean's fingers dug painfully into Sam's shoulder. He gave another light shove, Sam's body jerking, head snapping back when Dean didn't let go of his shoulder, and his legs were forced into the bed, and he winced.

"Don't give me that fucking bullshit! Other people like you, okay? Other people want you. You know that. You _had_ that. Had somebody fucking appropriate for you, and there're a fuck of a lot of other people like that out there! People who aren't committing statutory rape when you're together, and who won't _force _you if you say you're not gonna put out for them."

Dean's eyes darkened and his fingers pressed even harder into Sam's shoulder. "And if you know what's fucking good for you, Sammy, you better God damn tell me that you weren't gonna put out for those sons of bitches, I swear."

"Come on, Dean," Sam said, trying for casual and disbelieving, almost managing a snort, and he was sort of proud of how normal he almost sounded. "Are you trying to tell me that you never got bent over a hood, or fucked against a dirty wall by a trucker when you were my age?" It was low, totally unfair, and the fire behind Dean's eyes, the murderous glare he was getting proved it.

Dean didn't answer, because Sam didn't need to hear confirmation about shit like that, and also, this was different. This was _Sam_. Yeah, that had happened to Dean, still did, sometimes, and Dean had gotten off on it even back then, even when he'd practically been a kid, even though it had been seriously wrong. There was nothing wrong with it now, though. Not now that Dean was old enough, could take care of himself, had been around enough to know what he was getting into, but even back then, _especially_ back then, he'd loved getting used like that. Sometimes.

So he sort of got why Sam might like it too, but Sam wasn't Dean, and Sam was going to fuckin' well grow up better. He was going to find someone. Someone like Billy, who liked and respected him, and who would make it good. Show him he was worth more than cheap fucks in alleys.

But until then, Dean needed to make Sam understand that this shit? What he'd done tonight? That wasn't fucking okay, and Dean was losing it. He was scared fucking shitless about what might have happened if he hadn't come along, and he was desperate to keep Sam safe, to keep him from doing something this monumentally stupid ever again, and he wasn't thinking right.

He couldn't have been, because when Sam opened his mouth to say something after Dean had been quiet, lost in his own thoughts for so long, Dean moved in close, pressed their bodies flush together, and crushed his mouth down on Sam's.

It wasn't a kiss, not exactly. Not at first. It was hard and punishing, it was Dean trying to let Sam know what a dumbass he'd been, how Dean's heart had almost stopped in his chest when he'd seen what he had, how worried he was, and how much he loved him.

It was Dean telling Sam that he was still in a shitload of trouble, and this wasn't Dean giving in, playing nice. This was Dean making a point. He was still so damn mad that he was kind of fuzzy on what that point was, exactly, but he was sure he had one, and he almost managed to fool himself that this would help to get Sam's head on straight, get him over all this bullshit.

If Sam finally got what he wanted from Dean, finally realised how messed up it was, and that it wasn't going to work out, they weren't going to ride off into the sunset and get some twisted happily ever after, that he'd let it go. Understand that he'd been wrong, and just _let it go_.

Sam made a sharp noise of surprise at first, and then as Dean pressed even harder on his lips, mouth open slightly so his teeth were pushing forcefully on Sam's soft lips, threatening to break the skin, Sam started to moan. The sounds came from his chest, low and deep, and his hands moved then, tentatively, and they hovered in the air for a moment before coming to rest lightly on Dean's forearms.

Dean pulled back then, breathing hard, harder than Sam, and his voice was rough when he asked, "Is that what you want, Sammy? Is that what it's gonna take to make you stop being so fucking stupid?"

"Dean…" Sam said, not quite an answer, but Dean didn't give him the chance to. He knew Sam did. And Dean still didn't, wasn't ever going to, but fuck, he didn't know what the hell to do anymore.

Dean leaned back in, covered Sam's mouth with his again, but this time it was softer, and the change was so sudden it shocked them both. Dean was still angry, but he was also resigned. Doing this was going to kill him, he knew that, but it could end up getting Sam killed if he didn't. And when it came down to it, Sam was more important, and Dean was just out of fucking options.

He'd thought they'd covered the whole 'it's wrong to fuck your brother, especially when one of you is a teenager and the other one isn't' thing, but apparently not. And Sam was taking temper tantrums to a whole new level. A level that was pretty damn likely to end him up in some bad shit.

Dean closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall, and he forced himself to go through the motions.

He let go of Sam's mouth and pushed him down, gently, onto the bed, and when Sam looked up at him with big, blinking eyes, he climbed on next to him. Let Sam put his arms around him, let Sam pull him close, let Sam cover his face, his neck with kisses, let Sam rub against him and pretend that feeling the hard outline of Sam's cock sliding across his hip didn't make him want to throw up.

Sam couldn't fucking believe it.

This was actually happening. Dean, in his arms, Dean's lips on his, Dean's fingers holding tight to his arm and the back of his head. Maybe, maybe Dean was finally getting it. Finally starting to understand that if they didn't have each other, all they had was random backstreet hook-ups, and yeah, Dean was right, it was a dangerous alternative, but it was really the only one.

Maybe.

He kissed his way across Dean's mouth, and Dean kissed him back. When he got to the corner, Dean's mouth went lax under his, and Sam kissed down his jaw, licking and biting across his chin, and Dean whimpered.

Sam took that as a good sign, or at least not a bad one, because Dean was letting him, and Dean wasn't yelling anymore, and wasn't kicking his ass, so he moved one the hands that were clenching tight to Dean's back down, down. Over his ass, slowly, and Dean still didn't stop him, and then Sam swallowed, bit his lip and started to move it over Dean's hip, and toward his cock.

Dean froze, whole body going tense under Sam's hands, but Sam kept going, pawing at the front of Dean's pants for about two seconds, before Dean let out pained sort of sound, and put a hand over his, moving it back to his hip.

Dean wasn't hard. Wasn't even close to hard, and that was vaguely disappointing, and kind of ego-crushing, but Dean wasn't stopping him altogether, so Sam kept going. He could convince him, he was certain, even if it wasn't today. They had forever, and all Sam had to do was move slow.

And if that meant he couldn't touch Dean's cock this time, well, there was always next time. If he'd had any doubts about being able to wear Dean down eventually, they were completely and totally gone now.

Sam didn't really want to push his luck, didn't want to draw this out, even though he would have loved to have been able to spend hours, _days_, just touching Dean like this, hands and mouth, all over him, groins rubbing together… more. He didn't want to risk Dean freaking out, or getting cold feet or whatever, so he pushed Dean over so he was lying on his back, and settled in next to him, one leg between Dean's.

He kissed him again, long and hard, until they were both gasping for breath, and he held Dean down with a hand on his chest, and Sam's cock was so fucking hard he thought it was going to burst. He pushed his hips forward, dragging himself across Dean's thigh, and he moaned, low, and tossed his head back.

"Fuck," he breathed out, and thrust again, and again. "Dean, fuck."

He knew it wouldn't be long, knew he was going to come, and soon, and in his pants, like he had that time with Billy, only this time he wasn't even vaguely embarrassed about it. Maybe it was because he was more experienced this time, but more probably it was because it was Dean, and being with Dean made everything better, safe and comfortable and hotter than fucking hell.

"Yes, yes, yes," Sam chanted, rutted against his brother, the words were spoken almost straight into Dean's mouth, their lips resting lightly together while Sam road out his orgasm.

It was… pretty good. Not amazing, because he'd been fantasising for a damn long time about this chance, and in his fantasies Dean had been a little (okay, a lot) more enthusiastic than he'd just been. But still, he'd been with Dean, and that made it better than most of his other orgasms.

He breathed in a little shakily and kissed Dean once more before pulling off him, shifting so he was lying curled up on his side, his head tucked into Dean's shoulder. When Dean's arm moved, coming to settle around Sam, hand on Sam's upper arm, Sam smiled.

They were quiet for a while, Dean lost track of how long exactly, unmoving on the bed with a patch of sticky wetness drying on the front of Sam's pants, and guilt and self-loathing eating away at Dean, making him crazy.

He shouldn't have done this. Fucking hell, he should _not_ have done this. Sam was fucked up, yeah, but this was only going to fuck him up more than he already was, and Dean shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't have kissed Sam, shouldn't have thrown him down on the bed, and shouldn't have let Sam fuck his thigh until he came in his jeans.

He was supposed to take care of him, not molest him. Dean was a shit.

And what made him feel even sicker, was the fact that if he hadn't just gotten off earlier in the evening with the boy at the bar, he might not have stayed soft with Sam. He might have enjoyed it. He didn't want to, didn't think he would, but hell. Some touching you, kissing you, grabbing your dick and rubbing off against you… well, that physically felt _good_. Even if it emotionally killed you.

"Dean…" Sam said, after a while, fingers tracing lazy patterns over Dean's chest, sounding sleepy and sated. "Are you… okay?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean lied, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Fine."

Dean gave it exactly 36 more seconds before he got up, shifting Sam gently off him, and went into the bathroom to shower. When he came out, he was clean, at least on the outside, and changed into his sleep clothes, and Sam had obviously taken the chance to get changed as well, because he was wearing nothing but a pair of Dean's old sweat pants.

He was lying on the bed again, on top of the slightly rumpled covers, but looking pretty comfortable, and Dean looked at him, blinked, and sat down on the other bed.

"It's late," he said, sliding his covers down, and Sam nodded. "We should get some sleep."

"Yeah."

Dean turned and shut off the light before climbing into bed, and it was almost a half an hour before Sam climbed under his own covers. It was much longer than that before either of them was sleeping.

And that was how it started.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 13 – Dean/Sam. Dean wants to let it go. Sam doesn't. Of course, Sam wins. A little fun in the Impala.

***

After that first time, Sam felt more comfortable. He was more relaxed, felt a little less like he was crawling out of his own skin with need when Dean was around, and more able to breathe.

Which was odd, he thought, because now that he'd had a taste of what he could be having, probably all the time, if he wanted it all the time, he would have thought he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off his brother. Would have thought he'd be going crazy with having his heart's desire so close by, and not actually _having_ it.

As it was, he was just… happy.

Dean had been a little weird the next day, sure, but he didn't get mad, like Sam was afraid he might, he didn't yell, or storm away, or even ignore Sam, and go out to pick up the nearest, sluttiest girl he could find, and bring her home to Sam's nose in. Dean was being incredibly cool about everything, and Sam thought that was kind of awesome.

He hadn't mentioned what happened between them, not in the entire week that followed, and neither had Sam, but that didn't mean things were tense. Kind of the opposite, at least as far as Sam could tell.

Now, when Dean tried to talk to him (and he still did, just as much as he had been since the summer had started) Sam talked back. They actually got along again, talked about more than just cases, joked and laughed, and Sam knew he'd been right about them.

Now that they were… well, okay, he didn't know exactly what to call them, because Dean would probably kick his ass if he used the word 'boyfriend'. Hell, Sam couldn't even really bring _himself_ to use that word to describe the two of them, because he was in love with his brother, yeah, but he wasn't completely delusional.

But anyway, now that they were whatever they were, Sam didn't think there was any need to rush, or push. He'd been right, and he really hoped Dean saw that, too. Things were easier, they were getting along, Sam felt better about Dean, and himself, and _everything_. Better than he had in a long time.

And he took it slow, gave Dean a chance to get used to things. He didn't really want to admit it, but he might have been a little scared, too. Sort of nervous that Dean would snap, flip out on him the next time he tried something, so Sam had been just enjoying the peace for a while. He'd been pretty casual about things, starting to sit too close again on the couch, touching Dean again with little inconsequential brushes of hands and hips when they moved around the house, looking at him again when he didn't think Dean and Dad noticed.

Like he used to, before he'd kissed Dean for the first time, almost a year ago.

And Dean let him, but he didn't encourage it, didn't do it back.

Sam had been sort of secretly hoping that he would, though. Hoping that Dean would touch him back, or even first, with more purpose. Return the gesture when Sam's hand brushed his while he handed him a gun he'd cleaned.

Vivid flashes in his mind of the gun dropping to the bed while Dean squeezed his fingers tight, pulled him closer and kissed him. Dean pushing him down on the bed, covering his body with his own.

And then Dean would clear his throat, say thanks, look away, and Dad would say something about banshees, and four in the morning, and painting symbols on trees, and Sam would blink, and snap out of it, feel lonely and cold for just a second.

But then Dean would say something totally _Dean_, smile at him, or push him, or call him a girl, sometimes all three, and Sam knew everything would be okay. Dean loved him, Sam knew he did, and he just needed time.

***

The second time Sam got off on being pressed up against his brother, Dean wasn't expecting it.

Sam wasn't either, honestly, but at least he had a better idea that it was going to happen than Dean did. Though he'd been happy to take things slow, at least for a week and a half. He hadn't always, in the back of his mind, been wanting to strip his brother naked, push him down on one of their crappy motel couches, and wriggle around in his lap. Not _always_.

And that's pretty much what he did, the second time. Well, minus the naked part. And the couch part. But the lap part was pretty much the same as what he'd been wanting to do.

And at least Sam had about a five second warning, after the irresistible urge occurred to him, and before he actually acted on it, which was five seconds more than Dean got.

A confused, "Sammy, what the fuck are you…mgph!?" was all Dean managed to get out, when Sam came out of nowhere (well, not nowhere, because Dean knew he was sitting next to him, in the passenger seat of the Impala) and landed right in his lap, Sam's gangly legs straddling Dean's more solid thighs, with Sam's mouth practically fused to his own.

The Impala was a decent sized car, but it wasn't huge, and Dean and Sam weren't exactly small, so it was a tight fit. Sam banged his head on the roof on his way over, but he didn't let that stop him, and once he was where he wanted to be, he reached down the side of the seat and grabbed the lever there, pulling up with his fingers to release the catch, and the back of the seat went flying down under their weight.

Which sucked, because that gave Dean enough space to move, to reach out an arm and place his palm flat on Sam's chest, stopping him from following, keeping distance between them. Shit, Sam really should have thought this through a little more. Dean looked mad.

"What the fuck, Sam?!" Dean hissed, a hoarse whisper, because, that was right, Sam suddenly remembered, they were supposed to be keeping quiet. They were supposed to be working. It wasn't really Sam's fault that he'd forgotten that, was it? Dean just looked so damn good, sitting there behind the wheel, quietly singing along with the even quieter radio. Looked so relaxed, and happy, and sexy as hell, and Sam had just… spaced.

He'd forgotten about everything in the world except the feel of his brother's lips under his own, so full and soft and warm, and so damn pretty. Prettier than any girl he'd ever seen in his life, and yummier than that one time when he was seven and Dean had let him put gummy worms in his Lucky Charms, and he'd just… he'd needed another taste.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, eyes fixed to Dean's stomach, and imagining the smooth skin under his two shirts, newly tanned from the recent sun, and pulled taught over developing muscle. Dean was a tall guy, but he was still on the skinny side, and Sam had noticed recently that he was still growing, bulking up and putting on weight, even if he wasn't getting any taller.

And to see that skin, stretched and tight, flesh bulging underneath, when Dean took his clothes off to change, or stretched out on the bed unknowing, shirt riding up at the sides, just above his pants… Yeah, seeing all that? There were moments when Sam had thought he was going to go insane, it was so damn beautiful.

He licked his lips and groaned, a soft sound, but he knew Dean heard it, and he couldn't stop himself from swirling his hips just a little bit, grinding his hardening cock against Dean's crotch. And then Dean exhaled loudly, and Sam twitched, bit his lip, and dragged his eyes back up to Dean's face. Yeah, Dean was right. This was possibly not the best time for this.

"Sorry," he said again. "I just…" He just what? Needed to stick his tongue down his brother's throat or he thought he might stop breathing? Yeah, that would probably have been a stupid thing to say. It would make him sound like an idiot. And kinda like a girl, if he said it in that silly, love-sick way he was thinking it.

"We're working a case, Sam," Dean scolded, and his voice was hard, but his eyes weren't. He tried to sit up, but Sam's weight kept him down, and he couldn't reach the lever to spring the seat back up from where he was, so he couldn't really go anywhere unless Sam moved.

"Move," he ordered, and Sam kind of smiled, because it was times like this when the fact that they were brothers was really apparent. And he loved the fact that it didn't make his cock any softer, with the knowledge it was his _brother_ he was straddling slapping him in the face like that.

Sam hesitated, tensed, turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder and out the window. They were staking out a house, hunting a shapeshifter, and they were parked out front, across the street, with Dad around back in the truck, and watching the other entrance. Sam knew that he really should listen to his brother, move off him and sit back down, finish his job, the job Dad needed them to do, the job Dean _wanted_ to do.

And then Dean's hand pressed just the tiniest bit harder on Sam's chest, trying to move him back so that Dean could shift the seat up, and Sam's head spun back around, eyes dark, and hooded with impatient lust.

He was sick of this. Sick of hunting, sick of Dean putting it first, sick of waiting for one of them to make a move and bring up what had happened between them. And he wasn't going to wait any more. Dean was right there, and there was no reason that he shouldn't be able to just take like this. Not when Dean had let him before. Hell, Dean had been the one to _initiate_ things the last time, so Sam was allowed to do this. No reason he shouldn't, so Dean could just fuck off if he was going to get all prissy and uptight about this now.

He pushed forward, batting Dean's arm out of the way, and kissed him again. If you could call it a kiss, with the way Sam was mashing their lips together, using the way Dean's mouth opened slightly, an attempt to speak as he grabbed Sam's shoulders and gave a weak shove, to force his tongue inside, and his teeth clashed against Dean's, hard and loud.

Dean fought him, though not very hard. His hands wrapped around Sam's upper arms tightly, trying to lift him off, his head pressed as far back into the headrest as he could manage, trying to escape Sam's mouth. He shifted, bucked his hips, struggled, pushed, but not hard enough for Sam to actually go anywhere, and besides being completely ineffectual, having Dean wriggling around under him was just about the hottest thing ever.

Dean twisted, yanked Sam to the side, the sudden jerk bringing their dicks into contact through the thick layers of denim they were wearing, and Sam froze. Dean was _hard_. Well, okay, not as hard as Sam was, he wasn't totally stiff or anything, but his cock was thicker, fuller and more solid than the last time Sam had touched it, and that meant there was definite interest.

And so if there had ever been any chance of Dean talking Sam out of doing this right here in the car, on a stakeout with Dad nearby, it just went right out the window. Because Dean wanted this. Wanted _him_. And now he had proof.

"Come on, Dean," he said, breathless and pulling back just enough to talk, voice low and almost shy, playing up the scared, smitten little brother, that Dean always had a hard time saying 'no' to. And then he sealed the deal. "Please."

Dean let out a short sigh that might have been something like a laugh if he didn't feel like crying, and closed his eyes briefly, relaxing his hands on Sam's arms.

He wasn't stupid enough to think that after he and Sam had… well, after _that_, that Sam would let this go. No, Sam had pushed and begged, sulked and pouted and finally thrown the mother of all temper tantrums, and had ended up getting what he wanted. He'd been successful at pushing Dean into taking advantage of him, of touching him in wildly inappropriate ways, and letting Sam touch back, because Dean was weak, and they both knew that he'd never be able to deny his brother anything.

And now that Sam had gotten what he'd wanted, there was no way he was going let Dean forget about it, or pretend that it didn't happen. No way he wasn't going to expect more. It only made sense.

And Dean had noticed how Sam had been acting around him since then, looking at him like he had love goggles permanently attached to his face, and not even bothering to hide it. Probably figured he didn't need to anymore, because of what had happened. Because Sam thought it meant something much more than just a moment of weakness on Dean's part, a stupid decision, and an intense, overpowering desire to protect his little brother by any means necessary.

Sam probably thought it meant a beginning, a start of something that he'd been wanting for a long time, and now Dean was going to have to explain that that wasn't the case, and Dean still didn't want this, and it would break his heart. Dean would break Sam's heart, and he _hated_ himself.

So no, Dean wasn't quite stupid enough to think that Sam was going to let things go, but he'd sort of been hoping.

He started to shake his head, to tell Sam 'no', because that was what he should say. That was what he should have said the last time, and he knew it. He wanted to say it this time, just like that. Just wanted to say 'No, Sam. We can't. I love you, but we can't, and I'm sorry.' Something nice like that, that might take some of the sting out of the rejection , if that was even possible.

But when he opened his mouth to talk, and Sam leaned in again, slipped his tongue out from between his lips and licked across Dean's bottom lip, what came out was a little more harsh than he'd have liked.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snarled, and thumped Sam hard on the chest, knocking some of the air out of him. Sam coughed sharply, once, and sucked in a deep breath, and Dean felt like shit for hitting him like that when he really didn't need to. Yeah, Sam was pushing, hard, but if Dean would just say 'no' like he actually meant it, Sam would probably back off.

He'd still sulk, get angry and pull away, but he _would_ stop.

"Dean…"

"Sam, we're supposed to be watching that house," he said, the words coming out rushed and aggressive. "What do you think is gonna happen if we don't catch that shapeshifter, huh? People are gonna die, that's what. You really want to let that happen, just 'cause you can't keep it in your pants?"

It was kind of harsh, and Dean hadn't meant to say it that way, to imply that Sam cared more about his dick than he did about people's lives, but that was how it came out. And maybe he really did think Sam would let the monster they were hunting get away, let people end up dead, so he could screw around with his brother. He didn't want to think that, but he kind of did, and it sucked, because Sam was better than that. If he was this messed up, then Dean wasn't doing a very good job raising him, and he was letting them both down.

Sam looked down at his lap, hurt and shame flashing in his eyes for a split second before he hid them from Dean, and he bit his bottom lip lightly between his teeth. Shit. Dean knew that look, that nervous habit of Sam's. It usually happened before he started crying, or before he tried really hard not to cry.

God, Dean just could not do anything right.

"Dean, I… No," Sam said, shook his head and then looked up at Dean's face, blinked twice to stave off the tears. No, of course it wasn't okay if people died just so he and Dean could be together. It wasn't like he'd thought it through and decided 'fuck it', and jumped on his brother anyway, regardless of the consequences, to them or anyone else.

He hadn't thought at all, which was just as bad. Probably worse. He'd just wanted, and acted on impulse, absolutely nothing else in his head. Dean had been the only thing he could see. Sam was in love, and feeling damn good for it, but he knew enough to know that that kind of single-minded fixation could get dangerous.

They needed to stay sharp, focused, if they were going to be any kind of hunters.

And it wasn't that Sam actually wanted to be any kind of hunter, because he really, really didn't. He wanted something else, something normal. But he did want to stay alive, and he wanted his brother and father to be proud of him.

Now that Dean had pointed it out, the possible repercussions of his actions, Sam did feel sort of bad. But he didn't really have to. They could still do this, they could still be close, touch, and keep their eyes on the house. Yes, it would probably be better to wait until later, and Sam would if he had to, but damn. He was so hard it was actually kind of painful, the constricting press of the denim of his pants on his erection pressing a little too tight, and Dean just felt so fucking amazing underneath him, and Sam really didn't want to move just yet.

"No," he said again, clearer this time, stronger. "Dean, of course it's not okay if people die. And I know it's our job to look out for them, and that's okay, because somebody has to, but… that doesn't mean we have to give up everything. We can still do our jobs, Dean. We can still watch the house. Just… why can't we do this, too? We don't have to make out or anything," he added at Dean's incredulous look. "Just, you know, touch like this. We can still keep an eye out, but Dean, I've been going crazy, and I need… Please don't make me stop touching you."

"Dad…" Dean choked out, desperately trying to come up with some other reason that they couldn't do this, other than the one he'd already given, and the fact that he just really didn't want it. Sam had been kind of delicate lately, and Dean wanted to put off telling him that there was no chance in hell for what he wanted, and of it actually working out, for a better time. Whatever that was.

"Dad's just around the corner. All he'd have to do is pull his truck forward a few feet, and he'd have a pretty great view." It was dark out, and Dean had made sure not to park under a streetlight, so the chances of some random passer by noticing them in the car was slim, but John knew they were there, was hyper aware of them because they were his sons, and he'd be looking to make sure they were okay, or for an update or something. But he'd be looking for them, and for him, they'd be hard to miss.

"He won't," Sam disagreed, almost a whisper, and he pushed his hips forward in a sharp jerk. The thing was, John very well could, probably would come to find them if it took much longer, because they'd been sitting there for hours already, and the idea wasn't nearly as terrifying as Sam thought it should be. Sam knew he was screwed up that he was in love with Dean, but it was whole new levels of screwed up that he was just now realising, because the idea of Dad catching them was sort of a turn on.

Not that he wanted their father to watch them messing around, because that was kind of gross, and Sam really didn't want to deal with the consequences of John knowing about them. He'd make them stop. Sam knew it, and Dean must have known it too. So yeah, Dean was right. They had to be careful, and keep quiet.

Also, he didn't want to see the look on his dad's face, the disappointment and disgust if he found out, because as much as Sam and John fought, and as much as Sam wished his life could be anything other than what it was, he loved his father. He wanted him to be proud, and there was just no way in hell John Winchester would be proud of his two sons screwing around in the front seat of the Impala.

Sam could forget about all that, at least for brief seconds, because there were parts of him, very large parts, that wanted nothing but for Dean to love him back and fuck what anybody else thought, parts that just wanted _somebody_ to know. Wanted somebody to see, watch him and Dean like this, and get it. Know how they felt about each other, that there was love there, intense and severe, beyond any kind of conventional lines, and it didn't matter because they were together, and they wanted it that way.

If somebody knew, it would almost seem more real, like it wasn't just the two of them hiding a few mistakes. It would be something someone else saw, something concrete, and Dean wouldn't be able to take it back, wouldn't be able to pretend it hadn't happened, that it wouldn't again, and that both wouldn't like it. Wouldn't be able to lie any longer.

"He won't, Dean. And even if he moved the truck, we're still looking out the window, we can still see him first, and we can stop."

"I can't see a damn, thing, Sam!" Dean countered. "I'm flat on my fucking back!"

Sam smiled at that. Couldn't help it. He reached down the side of the seat and pulled the lever, raising the back of Dean's seat enough that he was still reclined, but he actually could see out the windows, see the house, and the street behind it where Dad was parked.

"Better?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, and feeling almost playful at the way Dean scowled. Kind of annoyed, but so completely cute, and not angry. Not at all.

Dean snorted out a tiny laugh, and bit back the rest. Sam didn't need encouragement. "Think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"I think I'm pretty cute," Sam countered, though yes, he did think he was smart. Damn smart. "And so do you."

Dean relaxed at that, genuinely smiled, and let his hands go soft, and without thinking about it, they found their way to Sam's hips, holding him gently. Sam was right, he was kind of cute. Not in the way that made Dean want to throw him down over the hood and show him a damn good time, but still cute.

"So come on, Dean," Sam said, not waiting for Dean to answer what he'd said. He didn't need him to. "We can do our job, we can be together, and Dad doesn't have to know." He rolled his hips and moved his hands from Dean's shoulders down his sides, to hold tight around his waist. "We can have this. I want this. Let me."

The look on Sam's face, the genuine pleading and the very real possibility that Sam would break if Dean denied him, made the decision that Dean didn't want to. He sucked in a breath, looked out the window toward the house, the street where their dad was parked, and looked back at Sam.

He let the breath out, frowned, and his eyes pulled down at the corners, because this was wrong. So very wrong, and yeah, okay, Sam had been rubbing up against him before he'd even had the chance to think things over and put a stop to this shit, and that had gotten him half hard. But that wasn't his fault, and it didn't mean that he wanted to fuck his brother, or that he was as twisted as Sam was.

It was just that Sam had caught him unguarded, and someone rubbing their junk against yours tended to feel good. And Dean's body hadn't ever been able to claim that it was in any way attached to his brain.

"Sam…" he sighed, but any protest he might have had died on his lips. It would have been a losing battle, anyway. Dean was strong, but Sam had more power here, and they both knew it. He didn't want to give in, really he didn't.

They had a very important job, one that deserved their undivided attention, even if it was boring as hell right now. The fact that Dean would rather sell his soul to a demon than defile his brother that way yet another time was inconsequential, because there were more than enough other reasons that this shouldn't happen. Again.

And none of those reasons mattered in the least, not to Sam, and not to Dean when Sam looked at him like that, took his silence for invitation, and opened up his pants quickly and deftly. He slid his underwear down, hard, leaking cock bobbing out into the stale air of the car, and he gasped in pleasure when both his and Dean's fingers touched his shaft.

It wasn't intentional on Dean's part, not yet, he was just flailing, pulling back in surprise and trying to get _away_ from Sam's dick, but Sam wanted it to be intentional. So he moved his own hand, the one that didn't still have a death grip on Dean's shoulder, to Dean's hand, resting on his thigh, and twitching slightly with tension, and guided it to his erection.

Dean knew he should probably fight a little harder, should probably not let Sam do this, should take his hand away and pick Sam up, put him back in the passenger seat right the hell now, and put an end to this, but he didn't.

Not with Sam giving him that face, looking at him like Dean was the only thing he had in the world, the only thing he cared about, and like he would completely fall apart if Dean denied him. It was probably deliberate. Dean wasn't quite dumb enough not to know that. Sam was manipulative without even realising it, and that was going to make him a damn good hunter some day, when he learned to hone that skill, refine it and tweak it to the circumstances, but right now, he was using it on Dean.

So far, it had been pretty successful, and there was no reason for Dean to think it would get less so.

Dean sucked in a breath and looked out the window. Kept on looking out the window even as Sam gave his hand a squeeze, his smaller fingers curving around Dean's, and started to move their hands together. Up and down, up and down, over Sam's cock, the path becoming easier, more slippery, as their fingers picked up the thick fluid that leaked from the tip, spreading it over the shaft as they went.

He kept on looking out the window, because that was his job, and it was right and it made sense, unlike the freak show that happening inside the car, when Sam took his hand away, and Dean's didn't stop moving. He kept on looking out the window, at the house watching for the shapeshifter, at the road behind it watching for Dad, anything to keep from looking too closely at why he was letting Sam get away with this.

This was his brother, and this was twisted, and Dean wanted to be pretty much anywhere else doing anything else, but having someone sitting in his lap, and having a hard, warm cock in his hand, made his body react in ways his mind wasn't. He was almost totally hard himself now, and just barely managing not to thrust up against Sam while his hand moved, and he just had to keep on looking out the window.

Because he didn't want this, he didn't like this, this made him sick and he was only doing it because Sam needed it, because he couldn't stand to watch what would happen to Sam if he didn't do this, but that didn't mean that his dick wasn't completely on board with statutory rape and incest.

Fuck. He was so screwed.

Sam could sense Dean's hesitation. Hell, he'd be a complete idiot if he couldn't, so he decided not to try to push for too much. Dean's hand on him, sure and strong, stroking and squeezing, was almost more than Sam had ever even hoped for, so for right now, that was enough.

He wanted to touch Dean, too. Wanted to take him out and hold him, wrap his fingers around Dean's cock, hold it tight and show him how much he loved him, how good he could make Dean feel. Show him that Sam was good enough, and that they should be together like this, all the time, because they both wanted it, and it was good for them.

And Dean had been pretty accommodating tonight, gave in pretty easily, and with what Dean had done, and let Sam do, the last time, Sam was pretty sure that Dean wanted this just as much. He just needed a push, a little encouragement. And he needed for Sam to take it slow, give him time to get used to it.

It was a huge step, and not one Dean had been wanting since he was twelve, so Sam understood, and wanted to make it as easy as possible on his brother.

So he wasn't going to do what he wanted, wasn't going to open Dean's pants and wrap his mouth around Dean's cock. He wasn't going to take his own pants off and wriggle around, push his dick against Dean's, slippery pre-cum slicking the way, and he sure as hell wasn't going sit on Dean's cock, take it inside him and ride the fuck out of it.

Not just because he was kind of scared himself, not just because he thought it might hurt, or be too much. Yes, that was true, he was kind of scared, but how much he wanted it far outweighed any fears he might have, but because he thought if he went too far, Dean would stop them.

He was skating on pretty thin ice as it was, and he wanted to keep this as tame as he could, build up slowly to get Dean used to it. So instead of doing what he really wanted, he just slid his hand across, from where it was resting on his leg, to Dean's stomach, and down. Rested it over the bulge in Dean's pants, and when Dean did nothing but tense momentarily, still his hand on Sam, before letting out a heavy breath, and start moving again, Sam pressed, squeezed, relaxed, did it again.

Dean let out a tiny squeak, a little breathy moan at Sam's touch, and Sam kept at it. He didn't try to get him off, didn't want to take it that far yet, so he just rubbed him, palm flat against the hard outline of his shaft, in time with Dean's strokes along his own prick.

Dean kept giving him those small, encouraging sighs, and with Dean's hand working him, Dean's solid body under his, strong muscles of his stomach and sharp bones of his ribs under one hand, evidence of arousal under the other, and Sam was lost.

This was even better than the last time, because Dean was actually touching him, had his hand on him, was stroking him so fucking good, bringing him closer and closer to orgasm. It would have been even better if Sam could have kissed him, pressed their lips together and slid his tongue across Dean's. If they could have moaned into each other's mouths, eaten up each other's sighs and cries of pleasure, but Dean was right. They still had a job to do, and at least one of them had to keep watch.

Sam was glad that that person was Dean, because he didn't think he would have been able to concentrate on anything else at the moment to save his life. And there was a very real possibility that paying attention right now _would_ actually mean the difference between life and death.

And right now, Sam was having a hard time caring.

Fuck, Dean was jacking him off! In his fucking car! It was one hell of a dream come true. No, it was more than that, because even in his dreams, Sam had never even imagined this scenario. He should have, and he was surprised that he hadn't, because they spent a lot of time here, but whenever he thought about them together, he always thought about them in other places. Beds, couches, walls… places that he'd seen Dean with other people in the past.

And that was what made this better, more than anything else. He'd never seen Dean in the Impala with anyone. That didn't mean he'd never _been_ with anyone else there, but Sam hadn't seen it, and it was new to him. Special. And it was _hot_.

He was proud of himself, because it lasted longer than the last time, and he didn't want Dean to think that he didn't have any stamina. He thrust into Dean's fist, rubbed him in time, brushed his groin up against his brother's on the occasional stroke, and they both gasped, choked out hitching groans, and Sam counted it a pretty huge win when he came, ten minutes later, swearing under his breath at the overwhelming pleasure, and Dean's fist clenched just a little tighter, his thumb slipped up and worked over the head of his cock, actually using some skill instead of just perfunctorily pumping, like he was actually into it.

Sam wasn't kidding himself that Dean would have ever initiated anything like this. He knew his brother would just as soon let their last encounter fade into fuzzy memory as not, but he was participating this time, and that was at least something.

Something completely, absolutely fantastic.

Something good enough to relax Sam, let him hunch forward, rest against Dean, dick softening and slippery, sticky traces of his spend all over him, his skin and clothes, and Dean's as well. The knowledge that he'd marked Dean, even like this, even in just a way that could be washed away with a shower and a load of laundry, was heady, forced another shiver of lust through his body.

His cock twitched again, when Dean took his hand away, and Sam let out a small sound, leaned forward against Dean's chest, pressed them close together and let his whole body soften, hands resting on Dean's sides. Dean let him.

Dean put his arms around Sam, pulled him close, one hand on the back of his head, fingers running absently through his hair, the other resting on the small of his back, wrapping him up. Even without the sex, Sam could happily exist just like that for the rest of his life.

Sam made a happy sound and nuzzled closer, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a tiny second, before snapping them open again, and when he did, it was the road behind the house that his eyes went to, looking to make sure John wasn't there, hadn't seen them, and that was one more reason that Dean wasn't good enough. He cared more about his own reputation than he did about the job.

He breathed in, and out, shaky and forced, and pulled Sam even closer. Sam. Sam was his job. More than that, Sam was his life. It was all he knew. Take care of Sam, make him happy. When Sam was happy, Dean was happy, and it wasn't responsibility talking, it was love. He loved Sam, more than he'd ever thought it was possible to love anything, and even though what they were doing together wasn't right, would only screw Sam up worse than he already was, the pleasure and gratitude on Sam's face, in his body, was enough for Dean not to regret it completely.

He'd still have to end it, and soon, but for now, Sam was happy, content, and Dean couldn't take that way from him.

"Dean…" Sam said, and Dean had to strain to hear him, he was so quiet and timid. Dean waited a few seconds for Sam to continue, but when he didn't Dean had to prompt him.

"Sam," he said, putting the smile into his voice that he wasn't wearing on his face, moving his hands over Sam in quick circles and pats, shaking him around as if they were playing. This was damn hard, and Dean didn't have a shower to escape to this time. Had to stick around until they caught the thing they were hunting, or until Dad showed up and told them to head home. It was fucking awkward.

"I love you," Sam said, no trace of fear or uncertainty in his voice, and that just made the awkward about five times worse.

But really, what could Dean say to that. "I love you too, Sammy."

And he did. He really did. More than Sam could ever possibly understand.

"But if you messed up my baby's leather, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Sam pulled back enough so that they could see each other, and he smiled, big and wide, and kissed Dean lightly on the lips before he turned his head, settled it on Dean's chest, and stayed there, content.

Dean was pretty content himself, having his little brother so close and so happy, after so long of Sam being miserable, and he kissed him back, on his temple, and held him close, did things he knew damn well he shouldn't, but couldn't help.

They stayed that way, Dean sitting tense and stupidly straight in the driver's seat, staring out the window at the house across the street, and Sam in his lap, wet, limp dick hanging out, and resting against Dean.

Dean let them, kind of wanted it, liked them that way, for a little while. But eventually, 16 minutes later, going by the clock on his cell phone on the dash, not that he was looking too hard at it, and he had to nudge Sam, slide him off into his own seat.

He picked up a roll of paper towels from between the seats, tore off a few pieces and held them up for Sam, then took a few for himself. It wasn't too bad. There were wet patches on his shirt, but not so bad that you'd notice them if you weren't looking, so he mostly just wiped off his hand, and waited for Sam to clean himself up, before collecting all the paper in the bag at Sam's feet that was designated for garbage.

Sam still looked happy even sitting in his own seat, and Dean tried not to look too miserable, or freaked out, because Sam didn't need that right now. Instead he just didn't look at Sam, kept looking at the house, and Sam did too, thankfully, and not ten minutes later, John pulled out, drove around the block, and right past the Impala.

"I don't think he's here," John said to Dean through the open windows as he passed, neither of them looking at each other, trying to keep the exchange casual. "Must have missed him. Meet you back at the motel."

And then John was gone.

Dean nodded, but it wasn't really to anyone. He told Sam to buckle up, and he drove them back to the motel right behind their dad, but making sure to keep enough space between them that nobody would notice they were together.

Dean pulled up into the parking space nest to the Sierra, and Sam looked over at him, smiled, almost winked, like the secret they had was cool, some sort of special club or something, and Dean's brow's tightened briefly before Sam got out of the car.

Dean stayed where he was, considering, thinking, and hating himself, and Sam walked around the car, stopping close to Dean's open window and looking at him questioningly. Dean made a decision and forced a smile.

"Go on in, Sammy," he said. "I'm not tired, and we've got nothing to talk to dad about tonight. I'm gonna drive around a bit."

Sam's face fell a little, but he did a great job at trying to hide his disappointment. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you later, Dean."

"Hey," Dean said, trying his best for happy and reassuring. "I won't be long. Just need to blow off some steam, and I'll see you soon, okay?"

Sam nodded, and smiled, and Dean nodded back, before peeling off out of the parking lot, and toward the nearest, seediest bar he could find.

He really needed a fuck.

And he found one, not too far from the motel, and the guy was pretty easy.

A game of pool and a drink later, and Dean had them both out in the lot behind the dive, Dean's pants around his thighs and face down over his baby, the guy who's name he didn't even bother to catch fucking into him from behind, hard and quick.

The guy finished pretty quickly, even faster than Sam had, but Dean didn't. When the guy pulled out, Dean turned around, looked him up and down, and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him to the ground.

He took the hint, and sucked Dean down, working quickly to get him off, probably because he'd already come, and wasn't in the mood for drawing it out at the moment, but Dean wasn't in the mood either. He just wanted to get off, and get home, and he was already sort of pissed that he hadn't come while he was getting fucked, so he put a hand on the back of the guy's head, and pushed him close.

Choked him on his cock, and the guy only sucked harder, worked at it more, and Dean was shooting his load not too long after that, down some anonymous throat, and it felt way better than it should.

He excused himself almost as soon as he'd finished, kissed the guy, the one and only time he did, on the corner of his mouth, and slid into his car, watched the guy as he slowly walked away. Back to the bar, probably to pick up someone else.

Dean wished he could feel dirty for this, but this shit was downright clean, compared to what he'd been doing with Sam.

He drove back to the motel, trying not to think about what he'd just done, what he did with Sam. Tried not to think about anything.

***

After their second time together, and a lot of thought, Sam was fairly certain that he and Dean would be a regular thing, that they would be a _them_. All the signs pointed to it, everything that had happened supported it, Sam wanted it, and it just made sense.

Dean wasn't on the same page, and while he meant well, trying to distance himself from his brother sexually, he really should have known that Sam wouldn't take too well to Dean's continued promiscuity, when he inevitably found out.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 14 - Dean/OMC, Dean/Sam. Dean is determined that this thing with Sam is in the past, and for him it's business as usual. Sam honestly hadn't considered that, and wants Dean to see things his way.

***

A long time passed between the second and third times. Almost three full weeks. Twenty days exactly since Dean had jerked Sam off in his car, and Dean was starting to think maybe that would be it, that Sam had come to his senses and all this fucked up incestuous shit was behind them.

Of course, he should have known that the only reason Sam hadn't tried anything, was that he hadn't had the chance. Not with them spending almost every moment of the following three weeks with Dad.

They'd caught the shapeshifter they'd been hunting after only a few days, and then Dad had gotten wind of a poltergeist in Albany, so off they'd gone. It was a surprise, though it probably shouldn't have been, because Sam was sixteen now, and ready, when Dad had kept them with him the whole time.

He hadn't left them behind, left Dean to watch Sam and keep him safe while John handled the dangerous parts. They hunted together, as a family, and they'd done a kick-ass job. It had taken a while, almost two weeks, and Sam had felt bad about that, felt like it was his fault that they hadn't been able to handle it easier, blamed his inexperience.

It was bullshit, and Dean told him so. Sam had done great for his first real time out. Better than great, and Dean made sure he knew that. John had just grunted when they were finally finished, patted Dean on the back, then Sam, said "We'll work on your aim," to Sam, and "Your Latin's sloppy. You been studying those books like I told ya?" to Dean, and headed back to the motel without waiting for answers from either of them.

Dean supposed they were lucky to have gotten that much from him. John was worse than Dean was at conveying things like affection and pride, and pointing out their weaknesses was his messed up way of trying. Fixing what they'd done wrong would keep them alive, and if John wanted them alive, that meant he cared.

Then they took four days off.

It was almost completely unheard of, because John Winchester never took vacations, not that four straight days in a car as they drove across the country to their next job in Spokane was exactly a vacation. But they didn't rush, took their time, actually got out of the car once in a while, stopped to see all the lame 'world's largest' tourist attractions along the way. They compared the pie from truck stops in all the states between New York and Washington, and they actually kind of had fun with it.

The rooms they stayed in on the way were small, cramped, not suites like they'd had in the last town, because they were travelling, and didn't need the space to stretch out, didn't need extra tables, and floors for notes and maps.

Dean had taken to sleeping on the couch when the only other option was sharing a bed with his brother, claiming that Sam had gotten too big, and he kicked in his sleep. He'd avoided Sam's eyes when he said it the first night, just fluffed up the pillow by the arm and sank down, trying not to wince as he was jabbed in the side by an unforgiving spring.

He wasn't looking at Sam, but he could feel his eyes on him, hurt and angry, and Dean wished he didn't have to make him feel that way, but he did have to. It wasn't like he thought Sam was going to try anything, not with Dad sleeping in the next bed, but he didn't want to give Sam the wrong idea, didn't want him to think there was more between them than there was.

John had looked over at him from the table, through slightly narrowed eyes, like he didn't quite believe that a sofa that wasn't even long enough to fit him would be a better option than half a queen-sized bed, but he just shrugged, and looked back down at the newspaper he was reading, flipping through the pages, scanning headlines.

Dean had asked, early on in their trip, if they could detour slightly into Chicago, catch a ball game. He'd always wanted to go to Wrigley Field, see the Cubs play. But they'd always had other things to do, more important things, so he'd stopped asking years ago. This lazy trip across country seemed like the best chance he'd get in a long time to bring it up again.

Dad had told him 'no', said they didn't have that much time, but he'd actually seemed kind of sorry about it this time, which was something. Whatever. One day he'd take his own vacation, and go to as many damn baseball games as he wanted.

Sam had checked the internet at a library across the street from one of their dinner stops the first night, and he'd been a little more excited than Dean thought he should have when he'd gotten back and told them there was some funky shit going on in Windsor.

"We've already got a job, Sam," John had said, glancing down at the printout Sam was holding out for him, a list of mysterious deaths, with seemingly nothing in common.

"Yeah, but this is practically on our way. Why don't we stop and check it out?" Dean had looked at John, wished that he could say yes and let them do this, because this was the first possible job that Sam had ever looked for on his own, and just based on what he'd told them so far, it looked legit, looked like they could help.

But he knew they couldn't go. When John had his mind made up, there was no changing it. Besides, they'd have to cross the border, and with their suspicious backgrounds and transient identities, leaving the country was something they had always avoided. Also, who the hell wanted to go to Windsor?

"Sorry Sam," John said, and took another bite of his pie. "Nice find, though. I'll call a hunter I know up in Sarnia. Pass it on." He pursed his lips, tilted his head, took another bite. "Better than Syracuse, not quite as good as Erie."

Sam looked disappointed, and Dean ate his own pie, nodding in agreement with their father. That pie in Erie was some of the best he'd ever tasted, even if he wasn't usually a huge fan of raspberry.

***

When they got to Spokane, they spent a day doing preliminary research, Sam looking shit up in books and online, Dad writing his notes, crossing things out, writing them again, and Dean out and about, talking to people, charming information out of girls and lying his way past security and witnesses.

At the end of the day, Dad told them he could handle this one himself, which meant that either the boys were only going to get in the way if they hung around, or that he thought it was too dangerous for Sam. Probably both, so he sent them ahead, told him he'd meet them in a two weeks at Bobby's place. They did that sometimes, when they had to split up, because John knew he could count on Bobby for a bed and some hot food, and he was good to his boys.

It probably wouldn't take him more than a day, maybe two, to handle the poltergeist, but then he said he had something to take care of in Windom, Minnesota, before he caught up to them. He'd told them it would probably take four or five days in the town, whatever he had to do there, and that he was doing it alone, told the boys to call if there was an emergency.

Dean thought he was being kind of shifty, and vague, but whatever. They all had their secrets.

Dean and Sam drove for a few hours, ended up two states over and checked into a motel for the night and Dean had tried to make it up to Sam, being left out of the hunt like that, by teaching him to hustle pool.

He was already a good player, been playing with Dean and Dad since he could barely see over the table, but he'd always been too young, too honest, to rip people off. It was kind of funny that it turned out he was so good at it.

The fact that he was young, sweet and innocent looking, helped a lot. Nobody saw it coming, and they made a few hundred bucks before calling it quits for the night, and heading back to the motel.

***

Sam stood back while Dean opened the door to their room, followed him in and shut the door behind himself, before shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it down on one of the chairs by the window.

He was feeling pretty good, hyped up about doing so well that night, helping Dean to earn some cash so they could eat, buy gas and newspapers, maybe a skin mag or two and a movie on pay-per-view. He'd made some money before, back in Ann Arbor shovelling sidewalks, but Dean wouldn't take any of that from him, told him to keep it for CD's and milkshakes, and that Dean would take care of what they needed. It wasn't as if Sam had earned a lot anyway, but it would have been nice to help out.

And now that he was, now that he'd proven himself, and Dean had smiled at him, stuffed the money in his pocket with a wink, elbowed him playfully in the ribs on the way back to the car, it felt _good_. And he was looking forward to the next time.

But this right here was the first time in a long time that he'd been alone with Dean, when they weren't expecting Dad to show up any second, and he was looking forward to something a little bit different at the moment.

Dean had been pretty hard to get a read on these past weeks, not exactly shutting him out, hell not even close to it, but he hadn't really been going out of his way to be close to Sam either. He was always around, always making Sam feel included, important, and giving him the security and affirmation that Dad hadn't ever bothered to, and basically acting like everything was normal, good.

But he always seemed to be making excuses for keeping a physical distance. He'd still touch Sam, still play-fight and give him noogies, mock him with a hug when he got upset over nothing. But that was it. He made sure they were never alone together for more than a few minutes, wouldn't sleep next to him when they only had two beds, shied away when Sam would accidentally on purpose sit too close, leave a hand too long on his arm.

He tried to tell himself that it was because Dad was around, and Dean was afraid of getting caught, so he was being extra careful, like Sam knew he should be doing as well, but he didn't think that was it. Or at least, not _just_ that.

It had been long enough though, he decided, because if he let it go any longer, not only would be probably combust with needing to touch his brother so bad, or die of blue balls (because he hadn't even jerked off since that time with Dean in the car), but he also thought he might lose Dean entirely.

His older brother had a short attention span when it came to lovers, and if Sam let him forget what it felt like for them to be together, he was scared Dean would move on, and he'd be left behind, lonely and miserable.

"Hey Dean," Sam said to his brother's back as he watched him strip out of his pants and walk into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Dean's answer was a muffled and wet sounding "Mmmph?" and Sam smiled, picturing Dean brushing his teeth with the ridiculous pink toothbrush that had been all they'd had left at the gas station last month.

"We should do something fun," he suggested, and he probably should have suggested it before they'd come back to the room, or at least before Dean had taken his pants off. Then again… Dean's pants being off was actually the ultimate goal of Sam's fun, so that might actually work out for him. "Celebrate."

"Ele-rate uh?" Sam heard, then there was a pause, the tap running, another pause, and then Dean poked his head out of the bathroom to look at Sam. "Celebrate what?" he asked again, more clearly, through a puzzled sort of frown.

Sam frowned back. Huh. That was a good question. He should have thought that through better. He wanted to celebrate the fact that he was feeling pretty good about being out with Dean at a bar, even if it had been too early for any real partying to be going on, and the fact that he and Dean had worked together on something, been a team and Sam had earned his keep, but that would sound pretty damn lame if he said it out loud.

And more than that, what he wanted to celebrate was the fact that he and Dean were alone together for the first time in forever, Dad was two states away, they weren't working a job, and wouldn't be until they met up with Dad again at Bobby's place, and that meant they had two weeks to do whatever the hell they wanted. Together.

He didn't want to say that either, was feeling oddly nervous about making a move tonight, given he'd been pretty bold about it in the past, so he wanted to go slower this time. Also, he kind of wanted to… go on a date with Dean. Yeah, the sex was great, and he'd been thinking about it a hell of a lot lately, but he wanted something more, wanted back some of the closeness they used to have that had nothing to do with Sam's dick.

"Sam?" Dean asked, waving his hand around to get Sam's attention, slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Fourth of July!" Sam suddenly blurted, because clearly his brain had shut off.

Dean's almost smile turned down again and his eyebrows knotted, and he looked at Sam like he was kind of on the slow side. Which to be fair, Sam couldn't exactly blame him for. "Dude, fourth of July was last week."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, bit his lip and looked away briefly. God, he was a moron sometimes. Like mostly, whenever he was with Dean, or thinking about Dean, or picturing what Dean would look like with his lips around Sam's cock, or his dick buried in Sam's ass, which was pretty much all of the time. "But we didn't do anything for it. We should. Do something. Go out, or… you know…" He trailed off, feeling and looking lame.

"Think we might look a little silly waving our flags around and singing 'God Save the Queen' or whatever," Dean said, lifting an eyebrow.

And now it was Sam's turn to look at Dean like he was stupid. "Yeah, especially since we're not British."

Dean snorted and shook his head. "Not tonight, Sam. It's late." He sounded off somehow, defeated and tired, but not in the way that a good night's sleep could help. But that didn't stop Sam from trying, not yet.

"Come on, it's barely ten o'clock."

"I'm tired," Dean insisted, rubbing a hand over his chin. Sam wanted to move forward, take Dean's hand away and replace it with his own, but he didn't. When Dean took his hand away his face looked lighter, happier, but Sam could tell it was forced. "Tomorrow okay?" he offered. "I'll take you out tomorrow, do something awesome."

He must have seen the disappointed and slightly hurt look on Sam's face, because he offered a full-on smile and said, "I'll even buy your whiny little ass some fireworks," before climbing into his bed.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, nodding. That actually did sound kind of awesome. And if he had to wait one more day, that wasn't the end of the world. He kept looking at Dean for another few seconds, watching as he shifted around, got comfortable on the bed, shot Sam one more half-assed smile before he turned over.

Sam breathed out log and steady through his nose and went to get himself ready for bed, and when he was finished, he was proud of himself for only thinking very briefly of joining Dean on his bed, before dismissing it as a stupid idea given Dean's mood, and tucked himself into his own.

Dean's eyes were closed Sam noticed, when he plumped up his worn pillow to try to make it bearable, but he could tell by the overly even rise and fall of Dean's chest that he wasn't sleeping. Sam wasn't tired, and he spent more than a full two hours watching Dean pretend to be unconscious, wishing they were closer, wanting to touch and feel and have Dean hold him down and take.

He must have dozed off at some point, because when he looked at the clock sometime later, groggy and unfocused, blinking a few times to make out the fuzzy digits that told him it was seventeen minutes after two, presumably in the morning, Dean's bed was empty.

***

It wasn't like Dean was waiting for Sam to fall asleep so that he could sneak out and get laid or anything. It really, really wasn't. But the longer he stayed there, motionless and faking, wishing Sam asleep so that he could finally relax, let out a breath, the crazier he felt.

He knew what Sam had meant by 'celebrate', and besides being a seriously weak excuse for them to spend time together (Fourth of July? Really?) it was also really obvious how he wanted things to turn out. They'd go out for some pizza, or a movie, or maybe even another bar, if they could find one that would let Sam in after ten or eleven, when the crowds started to show up, a few beers to loosen them up, and then…

Yeah. And then. And it wasn't like Dean could act like Sam was crazy for wanting it or thinking it, because they'd already done it, twice. Still, if there was one thing he'd learned from his failed attempt at high school, it was that two points made a line, not a pattern, so he wasn't being completely stupid when he told himself it would never happen again.

Maybe just a little stupid. Because he knew himself, and he knew Sam. Sam wasn't done trying yet, and now that they'd started, Dean was having a bitch of a time not giving in. That look of warmth and belonging and all out bliss on his brother's face when Dean gave him what he wanted was starting to become well worth the one way ticket to hell.

Not for his own sake, not even close, but seeing Sam that happy was worth pretty much anything. He'd do anything for Sam, including burn in the pit for eternity. That still wasn't going to stop him from keeping his distance and hoping for the best.

So when he risked opening his eyes, a torturous number of minutes later, and Sam seemed to be asleep, he got up, got dressed, and left. Needed a walk, needed some air, needed a drink.

He needed a fuck too, he really did, but it wasn't like that was pressing. He still had his own hand, and a few back copies of Busty Asian Beauties kicking around that did the trick between hook-ups. He'd only gotten laid once in the past few weeks, a sweet little brunette outside Bismarck, when he'd managed to sneak away for a few hours, and there was something about being around Sam, about having Sam look at him the way he did when they were finally alone, that made him want more.

The more people he fucked that weren't Sam, the better, as far as he was concerned. And it wasn't like he was an enormous slut or anything, because really, he didn't sleep around as much as you'd think. He just liked to have fun once in a while. Funny, since this fucked up thing started with Sam, sex was becoming a little less fun, and more about proving something.

But to be fair, it was only a _little_ less fun.

It wasn't even one in the morning yet, and there was a bar just down the block from their motel that he'd noticed didn't close until three. Perfect.

There was a pool table in one corner, a jukebox in another, and a decent number of people who mostly seemed to be having a pretty good time. It was a good atmosphere, fun and kind of upbeat, not depressing and lonely like these places could sometimes be, and it sort of pissed Dean off. He could really go for some lonely and depressing right now. It would suit his mood.

He took the long way around to the bar, dropped a quarter in the slot on his way and selected A-16. This place could use some Skynyrd. Some fucker had apparently thought it would be pretty funny to play Huey Lewis.

He looked up then, taking a bit more time to scan the crowd on his way to get a drink. Mostly couples, established ones and just people that had paired off for the night. Not surprising given how late it was. There was a group of guys around the pool table, a bit rowdier than the rest of the people, but still fairly tame, a little older and probably all on the same local baseball team or something.

There were exactly two girls in the place who weren't already with a guy, and Dean barely had the chance to think that the shorter one was looking like a distinct possibility, when the other one put a hand on her leg and leaned in close, whispered something in her ear and kissed her neck.

There went that.

Normally Dean would go for it, or at least try, and probably get rejected, because as much as porn told him that lesbians usually jumped at the chance for three-ways with hot strangers, Dean had learned from experience that sadly that wasn't the case. And he wasn't really in the mood to get shot down tonight, or to put in any sort of effort, really, so he didn't bother.

There were two men there, sitting alone, and with a mental shrug, Dean considered them both. The one sitting at the bar looked about Dean's age, just barely old enough to have gotten in, and maybe even younger judging by his dimples, and the cute little furrow of concentration as he nursed his pint. Dean seriously wasn't in the mood for young at the moment, not young dick anyway, even though he could tell from his cursory once over that the guy was a raging mo.

It wasn't obvious to everyone. Hell, Dean didn't think anyone else in the bar would have had the first clue, but Dean had some experience, and knew what to look for.

The guy sitting alone at the table for four, that was placed strategically in some of the lower lighting, however… Dean couldn't quite tell.

He was older, which was good. Not as good as some pussy would have been, but hey, Dean had to make due with that he was given. He looked thirty, maybe thirty-five, and he was downing a glass of what looked probably like whiskey with practiced determination. He looked just alone enough, and just confident enough, that if he was even a little bit bent, Dean would be having a pretty awesome night by last call.

He was hot too, Dean figured, not that that was necessarily a requirement tonight, but it didn't hurt. Looked kind of rugged, unshaven and sturdy, strong build and dressed like he didn't give a fuck, worn jeans and a ratty t-shirt. Looked like he wasn't there for any sort of company at all, least of all male, but there was something about him, the way he held his glass, adjusted his seating on the wooden chair, that told Dean otherwise.

Unlike the lesbians, this was a chance he felt pretty good about taking.

He went up to the bar and ordered some drinks, two beers and 'one of whatever that guy's drinking', as he tilted his head in the general direction of his night's intended. The bartender, a pretty little thing in her early twenties, with bluish black hair, and a couple too many tattoos for Dean to think seriously about taking her out back really quick between pours, raised an eyebrow and filled his order.

She clearly knew what he was planning, and clearly thought it would end in failure, but Dean was almost past the point of caring one way or the other, and anyway, he had a feeling.

"Thanks," he said, with a wink, and his tongue sneaked out to glide over his top lip just a little bit. The girl was cute, and he didn't really have it in him to turn off the flirting, even if he knew nothing was going to come of it. He slid her a twenty, told her to keep the change, and picked up his drinks, his own beer in one hand, the other man's beer in the other, the whiskey (he knew now, since he'd seen it poured) balanced in the middle, and turned around, walked to the man's table.

He put the drinks down unceremoniously, didn't wait for an invitation, or even ask, just sat down next to the guy, picked up one of the beers and started drinking, didn't even look at the guy.

He didn't say anything either, just took another sip, put the bottle down, played with the label, lifted it to his lips again and took another drink. Got nervous and thought about leaving.

But then the guy reached out for the glass in the middle of the table, double Johnny Walker Red, neat, and pulled it in, took a sip and put the glass down in front of him.

Dean smiled into the next drink from his own bottle, fingers tight around the neck.

"Do we need to do this?" they guy asked, tilting his glass back and forth on the table, sloshing the liquid around. Dean looked at him. The glass. Him. "I'm drunk enough."

Dean heard the slight smile in his voice, and looked at him straight on, lips quirking up at the corner. "I'm not," he said, and took another long swig, downing almost half the bottle. It wasn't that he really needed to be drunk to fuck this guy, but right now he just kind of wanted to be drunk in general.

The guy just nodded and took another drink, shifted his chair closer to Dean's. Yeah, he was hot. Kind of on the short side, but he was just pretty enough that Dean didn't really care.

"Dean," Dean introduce himself, swallowing back another large mouthful, and darting his eyes down to the watery rings on the table, left behind by drinks.

The guy nodded, downed the rest of his whiskey and picked up his beer. "Lindsey," he said, tilted his head, smiled just a little. He angled back his drink, taking a deep pull from the bottle.

Dean watched him avidly and swallowed down dry air, shifted in his seat thinking of how that talent could be put to use, and quickly finished the rest of his own drink.

"Lindsey, huh?" He asked around an amused smile. "Round two's on you," he said, gasping in a breath, and setting his empty bottle on the table in front of him with a thud. Lindsey eyed him up and down, probably trying to decide if Dean was worth it – the money spent on alcohol, obviously, not the sex – but then got up without argument, and fetched them another round.

They traded drinks, and not much conversation for over an hour, and Dean was almost starting to like the guy. You know, if he could actually develop an opinion based on the half dozen sentence fragments they'd exchanged. There was a sharp click of glass on wood, and Dean jumped a little, turned and shifted away from Lindsey.

"Look, kid," the guy said, letting go of his bottle, and slouching back in his seat. "You're hot, and I wanna do this. But I've gotta get up early, and I can't stick around until closing time waiting around for your closeted ass to drink up the courage."

Dean coughed out the small bit of beer that he was swallowing, managing to catch most of it in his sleeve, and wiped his mouth, spluttered over his choice of words. "Closeted?" was what he settled on, coughing again, and gripping his bottle tight before letting it go.

Lindsey smirked at him while he breathed out heavily, and Dean got up, leaned forward against him, bit his bottom lip and his words came out tense, and forced.

"I'm not fucking…" He didn't finished his statement, just leaned in, climbed over, rested one knee between Lindsey's slightly spread legs on the chair, and pressed his lips to the older man's, forceful and bruising, not even trying to get his tongue inside. This wasn't about that.

The guy laughed under him, pushed Dean easily off to the side, and looked at him, amused. "Let's go," he said, licked his lips and pushed his chair back from the table. "My place isn't too far from here."

They didn't even make it that far.

***

It turned out that the motel Dean and Sam were staying in was on the way to Lindsey's place, and neither of them had any objections to fucking against the side of the Impala, mostly hidden from the street by the car and the burnt out light bulb in the overhead fixture.

Dean probably should have objected, would have if he'd been thinking a little more clearly, and wasn't fuzzy from the booze and Lindsey's hand down his pants, because it was pretty damn dark, and the chances of someone seeing them were really slim, and the kinds of people staying in this shithole of a motel were probably used to seeing a whole lot worse than this, but they were still outside, in a public place.

Just outside the door to his room, where Sam was sleeping, and at the thought of Sam, Dean felt something heavy in his gut that was suspicious close to guilt over what he was doing with Lindsey. Which was ridiculous, for a number of reasons, but it was there. And it pissed him off.

His hands went tight around Lindsey's arms, fingers digging into his biceps roughly, and he turned them, slammed the older man against the metal of the car. Lindsey's hand slipped from his pants with the change of position, but that was okay, because soon there wouldn't be pants in the way at all, and that would be so much better.

He pushed against Lindsey once, hard, making sure he knew to stay put, and he pressed forward against him, chests together as his hands went for Lindsey's pants, unbuttoning and unzipping, shoving them and his underwear down his legs while Lindsey did the same to Dean.

Lindsey's fingers felt good against his skin, warm and calloused, sliding up and over his dick, teasing it to full hardness, not that it took much at this point. He pressed against him, hips thrusting him into the car, cocks rubbing against each other, smearing slippery pre-cum around.

"Wanna fuck you," Dean rasped out, lips pressed against Lindsey's neck, still rutting and hands groping almost blindly from Lindsey's hips and around, fingers kneading the flesh of his ass. He moved them over, squeezing and tugging, pulled apart the firm globes with steady hands, and slipped the tip of one finger inside, then another.

He was hot, and tight, and Dean needed to be inside him, felt the pull from his own cock, the overwhelming urge to spin Lindsey around and drive himself in, lose himself in the physical pleasure. He wouldn't have to worry about guilt or wrongness or consequences or Sammy. He only had to worry about his dick. And Lindsey's, of course, because Dean was nothing if not considerate when it came to sex. Oh and awesome. He was awesome at sex.

"God, yeah," Lindsey agreed, pressing back on Dean's fingers, forcing them further inside. "Do it."

Dean was about to pull back and spin Lindsey around, do what he'd said, what they both wanted, when he remembered that he didn't have any protection on him. His box of condoms, half empty and worn around the edges, flimsy cardboard beaten to hell from being tossed around in his bag all the time, was inside the room, where Sam was. And there was no way in hell Dean was going in there. Not right now.

"Fuck," he cursed, under his breath, biting roughly at Lindsey's neck with blunt teeth.

Lindsey laughed and wriggled some more, back onto Dean's fingers, which were fucking him steadily by that point, and forward, the leaking tip of his cock brushing up Dean's length. "Yeah, that was kind of the idea."

"No, I mean…" Dean shook his head, crooked his fingers inside Lindsey, adding another when he bucked and gasped. And all without any lube. That was pretty impressive. "I don't have anything. Please tell me you do."

"Back at mine," he answered, the words coming out kind of breathy. He was obviously having a great time. Yeah, Dean was awesome. "Wasn't really plannin' on pickin' up tonight."

Dean thought about it for a minute, considered saying they should go there then, but decided against it. They were half naked already, and Dean just really wanted to come, didn't feel like putting it back in his pants and walking several awkward and uncomfortable blocks.

"It's okay," Lindsey said, nudging Dean's face with his own to push him back a little, and then covered Dean's throat with his mouth, sucking gently. "Like this, then." He pushed his hips forward once, the motion exaggerated to show Dean what he meant. If they couldn't actually fuck, this would have to be good enough.

And it was more than good enough.

They set up a rhythm quickly, thrusting and pumping, Dean's fingers timed well with the motion of their hips, and Lindsey's hands flat on Dean's back, keeping him close. Neither of them were really interested in drawing it out, they just wanted to fuck and come and go their separate ways, use the nearest convenient body get off, because it was usually better than doing it alone.

It wouldn't be long, Dean didn't think, not judging by Lindsey's moans, previously soft and muted, now growing in volume and intensity. Dean was almost there himself, just needed another minute, and bent his head down to press his lips to Lindsey's, and sped up his hips.

And, because Dean had just the best luck ever, that's when Sam decided that going for a walk at ass o'clock in the middle of the night was a super idea.

***

"Dean…" Sam squeaked, still blinking some of the sleep out of his eyes, and trying to make the fuzzy, darkened shape of two bodies pressed very close together resolve itself into something that made a little more sense. He meant for it to come out sounding natural, maybe a little accusatory, because what it looked like he was doing was just not cool on so many levels, but he knew it only sounded hurt. And a little bitchy.

He squinted, rubbed a hand over his face, and took another step forward, leaving the room door open. This couldn't be real, could it? Was it possible he was still sleeping, and this was some sort of fucked up nightmare? He sure as hell hoped so, because there was no getting around what he was looking at, now that he was seeing a little better in the low light, and he was almost fully awake.

When he'd woken up and saw that Dean wasn't in the room with him, his first thought was to look outside to see if the car was still there, to find out how far Dean could have gotten, but the last thing he expected to see when he opened the door into the dark parking lot, was Dean humping some guy against the side of the car.

But that was clearly what was happening. The light was low, so he couldn't make out exact details, and he was actually pretty thankful for that, because he'd liked watching Dean do this kind of thing before, but that was _before_. Before them. Before Dean had kissed him and held him and jerked him off. Now, it was different. Now it _sucked_. And not in the way that was also good, like in the past, like when he'd wanted Dean, but thought that watching him fuck other people was as close as he'd ever get to doing it himself.

No, now it felt like a betrayal.

Dean's pants were pushed down, resting high on his thighs, and he was pressed up against the guy, wriggling around and moaning, one hand disappeared around behind the guy, doing something that Sam really didn't want to think about too intensely. And they were _kissing_. Which honestly, was the worst part.

Sam wanted to throw up.

Or hit something. Like Dean.

When he said Dean's name Dean froze, the line of his shoulders becoming higher and tense, and everything was still and quiet for several beats.

"Sam, get back inside," Dean said, sounding ragged and hoarse, like he was angry and upset, and obviously frustrated. Well, you know what? Sam was too.

"Dean," he said again, shook his head, and blinked to fight back tears that were threatening to pool in his eyes. "Dean, you… fuck." He was angry, he really was, but he couldn't really seem to sound like anything other than hurt. Probably because that's what he was feeling most, and there was really no use trying to pretend he wasn't. "How could you..?"

He didn't finish. Couldn't. Couldn't bring himself to actually say out loud what it was that Dean was doing, or why it hurt him so much, but that didn't matter. They both knew. And now, so would the guy Dean was screwing. Good. Because even if Dean had fucked around, he was still Sam's, and whoever the hell this guy was, he should really know that. He should know that he means nothing, and Sam's the one who's always going to be there.

"I'm serious, Sam," Dean warned, and he turned his head, not to look at Sam, standing behind him, but off to the side so Sam could see his profile, could see the tight set line of his jaw, and the way it ticked. "Get the fuck inside. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"In a few…" Sam answered, incredulous. What the fuck?! Dean was actually going to finish rubbing off against this guy while Sam waited in the room for him? He knew Dean could be a real asshole sometimes, but wow. That was pretty low, even for him.

"Fine," Sam spit out, eyes narrowing, and he turned and went back inside. He pointedly didn't close the door behind him and sat down on his bed, balls of his feet resting on the floor and bouncing his legs up and down. He couldn't quite see Dean and his new friend from this angle, just a thin sliver of their frames, a hand once in a while, an elbow. But he could hear them, if he was quiet.

They whispered as they spoke, kept their voices down, for the most part, and Sam's blood was pumping through his veins violently enough to sound pretty loud inside his head, but if he held his breath, he could make out most of the words.

"Fuck. Sorry about that." Dean.

"Hey, it happens." The guy, the first words Sam had heard him say, and he sounded like an asshole. Light and flip and kind of disappointed, but not like particularly cared that he'd been caught screwing someone who was already spoken for. "And hey, I ain't exactly one to throw stones here, given, well, this. But isn't he a little young for you?"

"What?!" Dean again, and he sounded genuinely horrified. "Are you...? What? No. No! It ain't like that. He's my brother."

"Oh." The guy sounded like he was thinking about that, and Sam could picture his confused frown. He hoped the guy didn't believe him. It wasn't like he expected Dean to admit that the two of them were incestuous gay lovers or anything, but it still hurt that he sounded so fucking shocked that somebody would assume they were a couple. It's not like that guy knew they were brothers. "Whatever. So do you wanna...?"

"Shit. Fuck. No, I gotta go in there. He's got his period or something, and he probably needs some cocoa and a hot water bottle."

Sam heard the asshole laugh then, and he could make out some shifting of positions, arms moving and clothing rustling, and he knew they were getting dressed. Thank fucking Christ.

The movement stopped, and Sam couldn't hear anything for a few seconds, then the distinctive sounds of lips on lips, and Dean's voice. "Sorry. Shit."

"Don't worry about it, man. Another time, yeah?'

"Yeah."

_No_! Sam wanted to shout. No, not another time. Not with this guy or anyone else. Dean was his. End of story. And then Dean was in the doorway, stepping through and shutting the door behind him, soft snick of the lock catching the only sound in the room.

Sam stood, backs of his legs pressed flush against the side of the bed. "Dean, what the fuck were…" But that was as far as he got in his rant about loyalty and love and asshole cheating whores of brothers, before Dean cut him off.

"Sit down!" he ordered, and he sounded really pissed off. Sam didn't quite know what to do with that, because Sam was supposed be the pissed off one. He was the one with a reason. Dean hadn't just been betrayed like that. Sam was seriously thinking about fixing that though. See how Dean liked it if he caught Sam screwing someone else.

But he sat down.

"I know you're upset, Sam," Dean said, calmer now, but still tense, standing in the middle of the room with his shirt untucked and hanging loosely over his hips. Sam could see that his pants weren't quite fastened up properly, and he was still mostly hard. "I know you are, and I'm sorry about that. Honest to God, I am. I don't want to hurt you. Never wanted that."

Sam just stared at him, wanted to say that he had a funny way of accomplishing that, but kept his mouth shut.

"But you and I, we're not… Fuck! We're not a couple, Sam. We're _brothers_. And we shouldn't… I should never have done what I did with you, never should have let it get this far. I'm not yours, Sam, and there was nothing wrong with what I was doing tonight."

Sam's mouth opened wide in shock, then closed again, and he studied Dean carefully. He would have yelled, would have gotten up again, closed in on Dean and pushed him, hit him, pounded his fists against Dean's chest until he listened, until he understood. But he could tell, by the way Dean kind of choked on the words, and the way he wasn't quite meeting Sam's eyes by the end of his speech, that he didn't even believe the words himself.

Oh, Sam was pretty sure that Dean was still a little weirded out over having a sexual relationship with his brother, and he'd give him as much time as he needed to come to terms with that, but Sam was also one hundred percent positive that Dean knew what he'd done tonight with that guy hadn't been right.

He knew Dean well enough to know that he was feeling guilty over it. And at least that was something. Meant there was still hope, not that Sam had ever given it up. And it made it easier to forgive Dean for this, because it was clearly a coping mechanism for his brother. He was having a hard time dealing with his budding relationship with Sam, and this was how he panicked.

That didn't meant that Sam was going to ignore it, and let it continue without speaking up about it, telling Dean that he wasn't going to put up with that shit. But not right now. Right now, it could keep. There were other things that he'd much rather be doing than arguing with Dean over his commitment issues.

Dean was feeling guilty, and he'd be more likely to let Sam get away with things. And if he was using Dean's weakness to get what he wanted, well, he was only doing it because it was what they both needed, and the sooner Dean realised that, the better off they'd both be.

"You're wrong, Dean," he said, and slowly stood up, walked across the room to stand in front of his brother. Dean's jaw ticked, and his eyes hardened, but he didn't move, or say anything. "We're brothers, yeah, but that's not all. And you _are_ mine. Just like I'm yours. Tell me there's one person in this whole world that you love more than me."

Sam lifted his hand and let his fingers slid along Dean's jawbone, drop off into the space between them, and land on Dean's chest. Dean sucked in an uneven breath and shook his head, eyes pleading and pained. Sam pressed on, needed for Dean to admit this. "Tell me."

"You know I can't," Dean said, sounding almost broken, and maybe that was good. Maybe that was him realising the truth. "But… not like that, Sammy."

"You're lying," Sam said, removed his hand from Dean's chest and dropped to his knees. "I'll prove it."

"Sam, get up."

Sam ignored him, lifted Dean's shirt up enough to see the outline of his half hard cock through his underwear and open jeans.

"Sam, get up. Please." A shiver ran through Sam, because Dean sounded damn good when he begged. Sam was determined that he'd make Dean beg for something entirely different before too long.

"I turn you on, Dean," he said, pulling Dean's pants down, then his boxers, let his fingers trace Dean's dick, licking his lips as he watched it get back to full hardness. Dean was hard again, because of Sam's touch, and neither of them could deny that. And yeah, okay, he was hard in the first place because of some other guy, and it was possible that this was just carryover from that, but Sam didn't think so. "And you love me."

"Sam…"

Sam swallowed and looked up at Dean, who was looking down at him, eyes very clearly begging him not to do this, but he wasn't actually physically stopping him. He could only assume Dean wanted him to keep going, but that he wasn't willing to take any of the responsibility for it. Sam was okay with that.

He gave Dean a shy smile and messaged his thumbs into the dents in Dean's hips, and then looked down, opened his mouth, and sucked Dean's cock down in one smooth motion. Dean was big. Bigger than Billy had been, and even bigger that that older guy Dean had caught him with a while back, so he had to adjust his technique a little.

After almost chocking on the first swallow, he concentrated on just the head, letting his hand move over the base of the shaft, and slowly took more and more in. Images flashed through his mind of what Dean had been doing with his dick not ten minutes ago, but he pushed them down, out of the forefront and away, something for him to agonise over later.

Right now, he was feeling too good to bother with thoughts like that. He was sucking Dean's cock. Holy fucking shit, he was actually sucking Dean's cock! And Dean's hands were on his shoulders, tight and fierce, like he couldn't quite decide if he wanted to push Sam away, or pull him closer, and that was awesome.

And Dean tasted awesome, and felt awesome, cock thick and heavy and pulsing, sliding over his tongue, and through his hand, the tip just barely nudging the back of Sam's throat each time Sam lowered his head. Dean wasn't really participating, wasn't thrusting his hips to meet Sam's movements, but he was hard, and he was letting Sam do this, which Sam counted as a victory. He could work on Dean's participation another time. For now, this was enough.

Sam took one of his hands away from Dean's hips and slid inside his own pyjama bottoms, fingers curling around his erection, and starting to pump wildly. He hadn't honestly known how turned on he was by all this until his own touch, but then it hit him like a sledgehammer. He cried out around Dean's cock, moaned and fucked his fist, sucked Dean down harder, moved his hand over Dean faster.

He was so fucking close, but he needed for Dean to come first. Dean hadn't at all, the other times they'd been together, and Sam needed him to, more than almost anything. So he worked harder. Used every trick he'd learned from Billy, swallowed down the head, cupped Dean's balls and rolled them in his palm, tongued Dean's slit and gently glided his teeth over the shaft. Jacked him until his wrist was sore, and then kept going.

And it paid off, because just a few minutes later Dean tensed, jerked his hips forward, aborted a cry of pleasure, and Sam's mouth was flooded with Dean's seed, warm and salty and bitter, and it was honest to God the best thing that Sam had ever tasted.

He gave in then, came all over his own hand, soaking the front of his pants, and he'd have to do laundry in the morning, but he just couldn't care.

He pulled back so that he was sitting on his heels, looking up at Dean, at the blissed out look on his face, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, and he smiled, because he'd put that look on his brother's face. He had. Not anybody else.

"I told you," he whispered, standing up and pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. His breath reeked of jizz, and he didn't know if Dean was the kind of guy that like those kinds of kisses or not, but he didn't want to chance it just now. "You're mine, Dean. We belong together."

"Fuck," Dean mumbled, and gave Sam a shove, ran a hand over his face and then kicked out of his pants, leaving them in a heap on the floor while he sought out some sweats from his bag. "Didn't know we exchanged fucking wedding rings."

Sam grinned, because he supposed that was Dean's way of trying to lighten the mood, and that was good. That helped. With everything.

"Do you, um…" Sam hedged, not quite sure what to do or say after that, but he knew he didn't want to let Dean have too much space right now. "Want to get some more sleep? It's hours 'til morning."

Yeah, that was good. Nice and pointed, yet still sort of vague. It was pretty obvious he was asking Dean to get into bed with him, but if Dean didn't, they could both pretend he hadn't meant it that way.

Dean nodded, but he wasn't looking at Sam. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Just… give me a minute." He didn't wait for an answer, just headed in to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He was in there for a long time, while Sam spread out on the bed and waited. But that was okay. He could wait. He'd gotten pretty good at that. Besides, it would give him time to come up with some sort of plan to get Dean back for fucking around on him like that.

If Dean didn't want to admit they were a couple, well, two could play that game.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Eeep! I think we're coming up on the end, fast. The next chapter will probably be the last. Wow, that kind of snuck up on me :) Oh and... this chapter is kind of on the darker side, for this story. I'd apologise, but, I kinda like it :)

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 15 - Sam/OFC/OMC, Dean/Sam. Sam makes some new friends and does some really stupid things. Dean is going to kill him. Right after he does something else.

***

Dean and Sam didn't talk for almost two days. Not even one word to each other as Dean turned up the music and drove them across the country to South Dakota, stopping only once to get a few hours of sleep somewhere in Wyoming. When they did stop, Dean didn't go as far as getting them separate rooms, though he was sort of tempted.

They hadn't been alone in a while, and the first time in weeks that they were, he'd gone and let his little brother blow him. God, and here he'd been thinking it was _John_ who was the fucked up authority figure in the family.

They hadn't gone out the day after, like Dean promised. No fireworks, no movie, hell not even a pizza. They'd just driven, microwaved some burritos at the Seven Eleven, and Sam hadn't even complained. Hadn't said anything at all. Dean was glad, because he just wasn't in the mood to talk about it.

This shit was getting stupid.

_He_ was getting stupid. At first, Sam's little crush had been almost amusing, something that made them closer, bolstered Dean's ego, and made them both smile. But that had been then. Back when it was innocent and harmless. Before Dean had taken things way too far.

And yeah, he knew Sam was the one that wanted it, but Dean was the big brother, Dean was supposed to take care of him, and if he hadn't kissed him that time, Sam wouldn't have thought it was okay to keep doing it. To take it even further.

Dean honestly just wanted to forget about the whole damn thing. Wake up one day and realise it had been some sort of freaky nightmare or something, or at the very least have them stop this fucking insanity and never, ever speak about it. Ever.

He knew Sam well enough to know that wasn't going to happen, though. Even if they stopped (and hell yes, they were stopping: they had to) Sam would need to talk about it. Would need to know why, get some closure, try to talk Dean out of ending it. He knew he couldn't put it off forever, but he could for a few days longer.

And so after the first two days of not talking to each other, they didn't talk for another three days.

They both talked to Bobby, of course. Sam was distant but pleasant, the way he always was around anyone who wasn't Dean or their dad, and Dean was a little warmer. Talked way more to him than he had in months, to Sam or their father, because Bobby was welcoming, and laid back, and Dean knew Bobby liked him best out of all the Winchesters.

And it wasn't often that Dean was the favourite. He liked it. He liked Bobby.

So he volunteered to help out in the yard, fixed cars that could be fixed, and gutted the ones that couldn't, spent his days under engines with the music blasting from the tinny speakers of Bobby's ancient ghetto blaster. And trying not to notice how Sam eyed him from the back porch, pretending to be engrossed in whatever Bobby had asked him to research in books or on the internet, but mostly watching the sweat trickle down Dean's overly browned skin.

He tried not to notice, but he couldn't help it, and he be surprised if Bobby didn't notice, too. Sam's eyes felt hot on his back, made Dean tense and turn the music up loader, drink a little more beer than he normally might have, and pray for Dad to show up.

Which is why he spent his nights surfing through static-fuzzy channels on Bobby's black and white antenna television, trading shop talk with Bobby and pointedly not looking in Sam's direction.

He hadn't planned for them to get to South Dakota so quickly, had wanted to make kind of an adventure out of the trip, take their time and enjoy themselves. Have some fun. So he hadn't planned on them being at Bobby's for so damn long before John got there. And it was getting kind of awkward, all this trying to avoid each other all the time without anything to really take their minds off what was going on (or not going on) between them.

And it was _really_ awkward on that fifth day, when Sam finally broke their mutual silence, after a supper of grilled burgers and corn on the cob, with pretty much the last words that Dean had expected.

"I have a date," he said, hand at the back of his neck and head tilted down, like he was kind of shy, maybe a little afraid of telling Dean.

Dean just blinked at him from his spot in front of the kitchen sink, washing the dishes that Sam was drying while Bobby answered a phone call. A _date_? Really? Who the fuck could Sam have a date with, and when the fuck did he have time to meet anybody since they'd been here?

Dean blinked again, and the plate slipped out of his soapy fingers, dropping into the sink and splashing dishwater out, droplets dotting his t-shirt. Fuck. He'd just changed, too. He shook his head and picked up the plate again quickly, scrubbed it and looked back at Sam, rinsed it and handed it over.

"Okay," he said, because he couldn't think of anything else. And it _was_ okay. It was more than okay. Sam dating was a good thing.

"What?" Sam snapped, snatching the plate out of Dean's hand, almost breaking it in two with how tight he was holding it.

"I said '_okay'_," Dean repeated and shook his head, eyebrows arched and started washing a spoon. Sam was obviously expecting some kind of argument.

"Yeah, but you said it like me having a date is some kind of surprise."

Dean glanced over at the tight line of Sam's shoulder and sighed, rinsed the spoon off and picked up a knife. "I didn't mean it that way," he said. "It's not a surprise. It's fine." Only, it kind of _was_ a surprise. Not a bad one, but Dean honestly hadn't seen it coming. "Who with?"

Sam shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, or he was trying to act like it wasn't. Like he hadn't brought the whole thing up just to get a reaction out of Dean. "Girl I met when Bobby sent me to town to pick up some motor oil."

"You picked up a chick in a car supply shop? That's… hot," Dean told him, lips pulled tight and kind of turning up at the corner. Maybe Sammy was learning something from him after all.

"No, Dean," Sam sighed, and took the cleaned barbeque flipper from Dean, dried and put it in the drawer. He balled up the dish towel and tossed it on the counter, turning around to lean against it while Dean took it to dry his hands. "She was across the street at the café when I went to get a coffee."

"Ah," Dean smiled and walked over to the fridge, pulled out a beer. He thought about for a second and then grabbed another, holding it out for Sam when he turned around. Sam looked at it sceptically for a beat, but then took it. "So you impressed her with your love of froo-froo girly drinks?"

"Bite me," Sam said, but he didn't smile, not even a little, like Dean expected he might. He did twist the cap off his beer though, and take a drink. It was a good sign. "So…" Sam hedged, almost a full minute later, looking up at Dean with his hands wrapped tight around his beer. "Can I borrow the car?"

Dean choked on his mouthful of beer, half of it going down the wrong pipe, some of it almost coming out his nose, and he coughed a few times. "Can you _what_?"

"Borrow the car," Sam said again, more determined this time, and sounding kind of pissed off that Dean hadn't just said yes. "What's the matter?" he continued, voice almost taunting Dean now, like he was daring him to say no. "You let me take the car sometimes when we need stuff. And you let me take it to go out with Billy. Is there suddenly a problem with me using it to take someone out?"

Dean swallowed and gritted his teeth, shook his head and smiled a completely unconvincing smile. "'Course not," he answered. But honestly the answer was yes. Not for the reason Sam was hoping, not because he was jealous and didn't want Sam out with someone. Fuck, he was all about Sam going out with someone. Lots of someones if he wanted to, because if he was with someone else, he wouldn't be constantly trying to suck Dean's brain out through his cock.

And it wasn't that he didn't trust Sam with his car, because he did. He trusted Sam with everything. But he didn't know where he was planning on taking his baby, or who the hell was going to be in it with him, and it just made him kind of uncomfortable. And yeah, he knew he was crazy, but he fuckin' loved that car.

He couldn't tell Sam that though, cause he'd just take it the wrong way. Instead he just nodded, took one last pull off his beer before turning and walking out of the kitchen to where Bobby was sitting in the living room, going over some Latin text. "Home by midnight," he called over his shoulder. "And you better not fuck her up."

***

Sam knew Dean would hate Cynthia. That was pretty much the entire reason he decided to ask her out. She was kind of a bitch, she came on too strong and smoked too much, and kind of snorted at Sam, looked down her nose at him when he first came up to say hello. He'd been his usual charming self though, and after a few minutes she'd started to open up, and the next thing he knew, he had a plan.

Take her out once or twice, make sure Dean knew about it, maybe let Dean see them together. Granted, it wasn't an original plan, and the last time he'd tried it, it hadn't worked out for him, but things were different now.

He had Dean now, and it was just a matter of showing him that neither of them needed anybody else. More importantly, that Dean didn't want Sam to be with anybody else. So, he made a date with Cynthia.

She was stark blonde, long hair down past her shoulders, with random bits of it curled, and other bits dyed ridiculous colours like blue, and green and pink. She wore too much eye make-up and the skirt she was wearing when they met was too short, and rode too low on her hips, leaving a small line of skin visible when she raised her arms, or reached, and her tits stuck out just a little too much from the deep V of her t-shirt.

She was pretty, Sam thought, which was important here, and he figured Dean would fuck her given half the chance, even though he wouldn't like her. Sam wasn't planning on fucking her, but if he wanted to prove his point to Dean, then the person he was dating in order to do it would have to be someone Dean would feel threatened by.

He heard Dean's distant warning to be home by midnight and huffed out a short, shaking his head. He looked down at his almost untouched beer in his hand and walked into the living room, handing it over to Bobby. He didn't really feel like sticking around to drink it.

Bobby took it without a word, without even looking up, and tilted toward Sam in a cheer of thanks. Sam headed toward the door and mumbled "See ya later," as he pushed it open, rolling his eyes as he heard Dean shout out, again, "Midnight!" as the screen door slammed shut behind him.

There was no way in hell he was coming back by midnight.

***

He wasn't doing anything particularly pressing with Cynthia, they didn't even really have any plans, nothing to do and nowhere to go, so they just ended up back at the café where they'd met, grabbed a couple of coffees and a box of sugary pastries, and Sam drove them to an empty park a few blocks from her house, where they sprawled on the ground.

Yeah, okay, hiding in the dark with some chick, when the point was to get Dean to actually see what he was missing seemed kind of counter productive, especially when she leaned in and kissed him after only about ten minutes, sticking her tongue down his throat and purring against his mouth. But really, this wasn't so bad. Besides, he needed to at least go out with her once or twice, before he could make up some sort of excuse as to why Dean should meet her.

And yeah, she was kind of a good kisser.

Not as good as Billy had been, but then again, he and Billy had had a lot more practice together. But it was good. Her lips were soft and giving, and so was the rest of her. Or, at least the parts Sam could bring himself to touch; her cheeks, her arms, the small of her back.

It wasn't until she tried to push him onto his back, a good five minutes after the kiss started, that Sam broke it, hand firmly on her shoulder to stop them from ending up on top of one another in the grass. He didn't want this to go too far, for a couple of reasons. One, and most important, was that he didn't want her. He wanted Dean, and she was only a way to get what he wanted.

And two… well, two, because he didn't want her. It wasn't really fair to lead someone on like that, take advantage of them, when you were only thinking about someone else.

So they talked some, mostly bullshit and about absolutely nothing of consequence, made out a little more, traded sloppy, sticky kisses, tongues and lips sweet from the sugar of their treats. She still smoked too much, and she was still pretty much a bitch, but given the increasingly comfortable conversation, and the fairly decent kissing, it was a pretty good night.

Around eleven o'clock, she mentioned that some her friends were getting together for a bonfire, and that she kind of wanted to check it out. Sam wasn't in the mood. What he really wanted to do was get home to Dean, to kiss him, hard and fierce, lick the roof of his mouth and get the taste of teenage girl out of his mouth, replace it with something stronger.

He didn't do that either.

He dropped Cynthia off at her friend's house, a not-quite-farm, but there was still a damn lot of land, on the opposite side of town from Bobby's, and they kissed again for a while in the car before she got out. Sam's hand was on her side, resting there mostly for lack of anywhere else to put it as they leaned across the front seat to fuse their mouths together, but when she put hers over it and slowly lifted it up, sliding it forward to cup her breast, Sam kissed her one last time and pulled back, smiling shyly.

It was kind of weird. He'd never done anything like this with a girl before. A few kisses, yeah, but he'd never full on made out with a girl. Never felt one up, or god forbid, gone any further, like he could tell Cynthia wanted. And he kind of thought he should. Want to, that is.

The first time he'd ever had the chance to beyond some innocent kissing with someone had been Billy, and well, Billy was a guy. He was pretty sure he still liked girls, if he could manage to like anyone that wasn't Dean, because his dick was twitching pleasantly in his pants at the thought of slipping Cynthia out of her shirt and sticking his hand down those loose-fitting jeans, to curl his fingers into her warmth.

But while that idea potentially held a lot of physical appeal, it just wasn't something he wanted. He wanted Dean. The fucking jack-ass.

So he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat so that his pants were sitting more comfortably across the slight bulge in the front, blushed when she called him cute, and said goodnight.

Drove for a while, and spent the next three hours sitting in a McDonalds parking lot, nibbling on a small order of fries.

Dean was waiting up for him when he got home, and pretending not to, just like Sam had hoped.

When he opened the door to Bobby's house and walked inside, he could hear the television in the next room, and he locked up behind himself before he walked past Dean, sitting on the couch with the remote in his hand. He stopped and looked at him, but Dean didn't turn at first, just kept on staring at the small black and white screen, until Sam sighed, and started walking toward the hallway that led to the bedroom he and Dean slept in.

"I know what you're doing, Sam," Dean's soft voice followed him. It was kind of off putting, Dean not yelling at him for breaking curfew, or for asking how his car was. Just some quiet words, letting Sam know that Dean knew. Knew why he'd gone out on a date in the first place, and knew why Sam had stayed out so late. To make Dean worry. To make Dean jealous. To make Dean give a shit.

He knew his brother cared, and he knew he probably had been a little worried, or he wouldn't still be up, watching The Three Stooges, and waiting for Sam to come home. But he wanted Dean to care that he was with someone else, that he had touched and kissed someone else. Wanted him to care the way Sam did when he saw Dean with that guy in the parking lot.

He'd give it another shot, but despite some recent events that could be seen as progress, he was starting to lose hope that Dean would ever come around. Which really, really sucked, because he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't have Dean the way he wanted him.

***

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, two days later, from under the hood of a '67 Camaro, the setting sun turning the sky behind him soft pink. He was stupidly gorgeous against that backdrop, bent over a car, the muscles in his arms rippling slightly under his skin while worked a wrench stubbornly over something or other that Sam would probably never understand.

Sam kind of wanted to drop to his knees and crawl to Dean, nuzzle his crotch like a cat.

"Out," Sam answered simply and turned, heading down Bobby's long drive.

"With your girlfriend?" Dean asked, lips in a half smile and he stood up, wiping his hands off on the rag that had been tucked into the back of his pants.

"She's not my…" Sam started and sighed. He knew Dean was baiting him. "But yes, with Cynthia."

Dean nodded. "Dad will be back in a couple of days, you know." It was said casually, like he might be talking about making spaghetti tomorrow for supper, but Sam could hear it for the cautious warning it was. Make friends, but don't get attached, because we'll be leaving soon.

Well for once, Sam didn't really care that they were leaving. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go anywhere, as long as Dean was with him.

Sam didn't say anything.

"Be home by midnight," he ordered, just like last time, just like every time Sam went out. "And I fuckin' mean it this time. I will come find you and drag your sorry ass home if I have to. And don't even think about taking the Impala."

He turned back to the car only to slam down the hood before heading back into the house, so he didn't see Sam roll his eyes and flip Dean off. He wasn't planning on taking Dean's precious car anyway. The walk to Cynthia's house would probably only take him about half an hour, and he didn't want to have to worry about driving home later that night.

He was going to a party.

It was summer, in a small town, and so pretty much the only things teenagers around there ever did was swim, camp and party. Sometimes all three together. And tonight, Cynthia's parents were out of town, so the party was at her house. It wouldn't be anything big, she told him when she mentioned it the other night, just a few friends, hanging out, having a few drinks and shit, but that he was welcome to come if he wanted.

At the time, he hadn't known if he'd want to, but it turned out that he did. It wasn't the party he was looking forward to, so much as another chance to piss Dean off by being late, and give him one more chance to get jealous over Sam's dating.

And the chance for a little more lip action with a pretty girl wouldn't exactly suck either. Yeah, he was in love with Dean, but he was still a teenage boy.

When he got there, a couple of hours after dark, because he stopped by the library on his way and got distracted reading about local folklore, the party was in full swing. It was like Cynthia had said; not a huge crowd, maybe only about 15 or 20 people, and they were keeping it pretty low key.

There was music playing, but not too loudly, some couples were sitting in each other's laps on various pieces of furniture, a few people had a game of caps going on the floor in one corner, and few others were playing what looked like the new Super Smash Brothers for the Nintendo 64. There was a bowl of punch on the table, that was more vodka than anything else and Sam almost spit out his first sip, when Cynthia gave him a glass, along with a kiss on the cheek, but he made himself proud by managing to mostly hide his surprise.

It wasn't like he wasn't expecting alcohol, just… maybe not quite so much of it in one glass. But Sam drank it, and then another, talked with some of Cynthia's friends, played some Nintendo and drank a few more glasses. He didn't pound them back or anything, but after several hours he'd honestly lost count of how many he'd had, and when he started to tip to the side, having to prop himself up against the guy that he was having a very deep conversation with about strength versus speed in a game like Street Fighter, he decided he'd probably had enough.

And that's when Cynthia showed up, settling behind him on the floor and wrapping an arm around him from behind, and passed him a half smoked joint with a convincing smile. He'd never done that shit before, but pot wasn't really anything hardcore, so Sam didn't think it would be that big a deal. Then again, he was very, very drunk, so it wasn't like he was making the best choices at the moment.

He took the joint from her with slightly nervous fingers, but she nodded reassuringly at him and he took a steadying breath before lifting it to his mouth. He closed his lips over the end of it, closed his eyes and sucked in, the smoke filling and stinging his lungs.

Of course he immediately coughed and hacked, breath and smoke coming out again in wet rasps. But in his defence, that was probably just as much to do with the fact that both Cynthia and the guy he'd been leaning against had chosen that moment to link their fingers together and rest them over Sam's crotch, as it had to do with the foreign feeling of pollutant in his lungs.

He opened his eyes and took a few deep breaths, getting some clean oxygen back inside him, and he tensed for a moment when he heard the soft chuckles of the other two people, before Cynthia's free arm tightened around him and pulled him back against her, taking his weight and forcing him to relax.

"Try another," she suggested, and the guy brushed his nose against Sam's jaw, murmuring an agreement. Sam swallowed and blinked, wondering what the hell he was doing and thinking that he should really just get up now, head home and drink about a hundred coffees, and pray that he could sneak past Dean and manage to pass out safe in his bed without getting his ass kicked by his brother.

Instead, he tried another.

It went smoother than the first, and the third was even more successful than the second. He handed the dwindling white spliff over to the guy… fuck what was his name? He'd heard it, he knew, but… Mark, maybe? Anyway, he handed it over when the guy touched his hand, fingers tracing slow over Sam's until his finger and thumb closed down over the roach, and his tongue slipped out to lick over Sam's earlobe.

He kind of just closed his eyes then, leaned back and let Cynthia trace patterns over his chest with her fingers. This was nice.

***

More time passed, and people started to leave, bottle caps were lining the baseboards along one wall and the Nintendo played an introduction cartoon in a loop on the television, abandoned. Sam had managed to get up at some point, had played an embarrassingly terrible game of checkers with a girl called Lisa, and tried to explain proper gun care to a really cute guy with the most intense green eyes, who looked at him like he was kind of a psycho.

The guy kind of reminded him of Dean, only not nearly as totally awesome.

He'd taken the initiative and gotten himself a few more drinks, because that kind of thing made sense when you were shitfaced, even it would normally seem like a really bad idea. And he didn't turn down any of the seemingly endless marijuana that was making some pretty serious rounds.

He wasn't seeing straight, and he was even having a hard time standing on his own, but that was okay, because he was sitting. He was on the couch, with Cynthia next to him and his hand up under her shirt, fingers clumsily skimming over her pert nipples. They were saying goodbye to the last of the crowd, save Sam and… Max? Fuck, what the hell was that guy's name? But he wasn't really paying attention to that.

He mumbled a vague sort of sound that might have been interpreted as a goodbye, if anyone had cared enough to listen, and then ducked his head, catching Cynthia's neck between his teeth, biting lightly and then licking. He heard the door close, and then he felt the couch dip next to him, and then the guy's hands were on him.

Along his thigh, and over his shoulder, mouth on the back of Sam's neck, and Sam froze for a moment, then shuddered, and gave in. He was drunk and high, but he wasn't retarded. He knew that the guy wanted him, knew that Cynthia wanted them both, and if Sam was thinking straight, he wouldn't have wanted either of them. Turns out that vodka and pot may seem harmless, but if you have _enough_ vodka, and _enough_ pot, you can get pretty fucked up.

That was probably good to know for next time.

The next few seconds, or minutes, or possibly longer, Sam wasn't really sure, passed in kind of a blur. The guy to his one side kept advancing, touching with hands and lips, and Sam kind of hated himself because it felt good, and he pushed himself even closer to Cynthia.

He wasn't sure if it was that he just preferred her to him, preferred girls to guys, or… no, fuck that pretending shit. He knew exactly what it was. If any guy was going to touch him like that, it really should be Dean. _Dean_, Sam thought, and his heart kind of clenched, but the chemicals in his brain banded together against his better judgement, and when Cynthia unbuttoned her shirt, and her front-closing bra, pulling the material aside with nimble fingers, his head kind of dropped of it's own accord, to the skin of her sternum.

This kind of thing was supposed to be good, Sam knew that much. And it was. Kind of. Mostly, it was bleary, and dizzy, loaded him up with guilt and made him miss Dean.

He didn't really have time to think about that, though, because hands and lips were on him, Cynthia and Mart? Matt? Gently adjusting his body, leaning him down over the girl and onto his knees, while the guy nudged up close against him.

His face was in between Cynthia's tits, tongue darting out to lick across her skin, and the guy behind him pressed his hips forward, hard outline of his cock rubbing against Sam's pants. Fuck, he felt like a slut. Felt kind of like Dean, screwing around with someone, and not even knowing their name. _Dean_.

Fuck, he really needed to get out of there. Get back to Bobby's. Even if Dean beat the shit out of him for staying out late and getting wasted. He just wanted Dean, and at this point, even Dean punching him in the nose would be awesome.

"Ungh," Sam grunted, and cursed himself for being so out of it that the words wouldn't even come out the way he wanted. "Nagh."

What he meant to say was 'stop'. Or maybe 'no', or 'I have to go home', but none of those things came out. Cynthia's hands tangled in the back of his hair, and the guy's hand moved around his hips, fiddled with his buckle for a few seconds and then undid his pants, pulled them down slowly, large, warm hands over his hips and thighs.

Yeah, that was… not what he wanted. He groaned again, tried to say 'no' and damn the fucking booze and drugs that he was this incoherent. "Na…" he breathed out, and Cynthia's tits closed tighter around his face, and he closed his eyes.

He pulled back, or tried to, but he was stuck in place by the guy's chest, and the rub of his hard, jeans-covered cock, against his ass.

He heard kind of a soft pounding sound then, as he unconsciously wriggled. A far away sound, and he ignored it. The others seemed to as well.

Cynthia's tit was shoved into his face, and he took the nipple in his mouth, sucking for a fraction of a second before he pulled back, tonguing it, then shaking his head. "Nuh," he said, and he heard more banging, pounding, louder and louder, and he felt a naked cock against his backside, sliding between his cheeks.

He shuddered, twitched and wriggled, half-assedly throwing them off their game, but they only laughed and converged on him again. Shit. He should have thought of this. He really should have thought of this.

"No," he gasped out, from between Cynthia's tits, as the guy's dick rubbed up and down along his crack. "Fuck… no…"

They didn't hear him, or they didn't care, because Cynthia's grip only got stronger, and the guy's hips pressed harder against him, tip teasing over his hole, and Sam wanted to die. Wanted to shout and run and beg Dean to protect him forever. But he couldn't. He was fucked, and it was his own stupid fault, and he couldn't do anything but protest in small, quiet sounds.

"No, no, no… please…" he said, and the guy shifted his hips, dick sliding into position to slide into Sam, and Sam jerked forward, his own hard cock rubbing against Cynthia's crotch, her skirt pulled up around her waist, and her underwear on full view.

He didn't want that either, and he jerked back again, only to come into contact with the same hard cock against the back of him, and he closed his eyes, sighed as he felt the cock slide down between his cheeks.

Fuck he didn't want this. He really didn't want this. This should be Dean. He canted his hips to the side, tilted his head down, forehead against Cynthia's ribs and tightened his eyes. "No," he said, but that didn't stop him from moving his ass back into what's-his-name's lap. He pushed back again, the erection dragging across the swell of his cheeks. "No."

Cynthia canted her hips, pushing her soft core against his dick, and the guy behind him thrust into him, again, and again, tip of his dick getting closer to penetration each time. "No," Sam said, but he was probably too quiet to be heard. "No, no, no…"

All he wanted was Dean. He only wanted Dean. And he was never drinking again, because it only made him stupid. And he loved Dean.

And then Cynthia's hand clamped down on his cock hard, squeezing his erection until it hurt, and the guy behind him lined up just so, and he took a defeated sort of breath, mumbling a few more 'no's and 'don't's, and he didn't think they heard him.

But then there was a crash of sound, the front door opening, slamming into the wall, and a rough noise, a silence.

"What the…" Sam vaguely heard, through his litany of 'no's and 'don't's before he was washed over with cool air, landing on his ass on the shag carpeted floor, alone.

***

"Get the fuck off him, asshole!" Dean shouted, eyes wide and trying his damndest not to kill anyone. There was a guy, at Sam's back, rocking in like he meant business, while some girl wrapped her slutty legs around Sam's wait and his little brother just kept mumbling 'no, no, no….'

He didn't want to do this. He honestly hadn't wanted to do what he'd threatened, and come to find Sam, drag him back home like some kind of overprotective authority figure. But when it was going on three in the morning, and Sam wasn't back, Dean had done what Dean did, and got freaked out.

And it was a good damn thing, too, considering his little brother had got himself into a threeway he clearly wanted no part of, and had gotten himself too messed up to be able to do anything about it.

He stormed into the main room of the house almost blindly, stepping up to the couch and yanking the boy off his brother, sending his body sprawling to the floor. "Can't you fuckin' hear, asshole?!" he yelled, looking down at him through narrowed eyes. "He said no!"

And then the boys eyes turned from glassy and absent to slightly confused, and Dean realised that no, he probably hadn't heard Sam asking him to stop. The kid's pupils were blown, and the whites of his eyes were lined with red. He was high. His eyes shot briefly to Sam and his girl, and then back the guy on the floor. They were all high. Well. That didn't make it better, but at least it kind of explained things.

"He said 'no'!" Dean shouted, just in case there was any sort of misunderstanding, and then he grabbed Sam by the back of the shirt, yanking him up on shaky legs. "Fuck," he sighed, and shook his head, hand going to Sam's thighs to pull up his pants, deciding the wood he was sporting could do well with being covered up. "Do your fuckin' pants up!"

Sam brought his hands to his waist, fingers falling over each other in a few lame attempt to do as Dean asked, and Dean sighed, and gave up on him, adjusting his shirt to cover his dick enough to make it to the car.

"Get the fuck outside, Sammy," he ordered, and his voice must have been low and dangerous enough that Sam obeyed, without any lip, or even a backward glance,

"And you two!" he shouted, low and threatening, pointing at the half naked girl and guy inside, when Sam was opening the passenger door to the car. "Put your fuckin' clothes on and get some coffee! And I'm calling your parents!"

He looked at them, blinked and they blinked back, like they were actually afraid of him, because he was the 'parent', and he walked out to the car to meet Sam, feeling like kind of a tool.

Whatever. Kids just shouldn't have this much freedom. It was kind of funny he thought that, given his childhood and adolescence.

Sam didn't say anything when Dean got in the car, didn't say anything when he started driving, didn't say anything when Dean asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, and they'd gotten an hour outside of town before Dean even bothered to look over enough to see that Sam was asleep.

He shot a hand out and punched Sam in the chest. Hard.

"Ah!" Sam shouted, turned his head, his body, covered the sore spot with his hand. "What?" he asked, blinking.

"I want Cynthia's parent's phone number," Dean said, voice totally level and no-nonsense. He totally meant it.

"Wha…" Sam managed, and Dean hit him again, and Sam leaned forward, blinked and coughed and sat up straighter.

"Her parent's number, dickwad."

"I… I don't know," Sam said, shaking his head, and Dean was kind of relieved. He hadn't actually wanted to call anybody's parents. He'd just needed something to say to Sam after he punched him. "I don't even know where they are." He adjusted himself in the passenger seat, cracked his neck on each side and then looked out the window, checking for the road signs, to see if he could tell where they were.

Then his brow furrowed, and he looked back at Dean for just a second. "How did you know where to find me, anyway?" His words were slurred and slow, and he still seemed pretty drunk, but he was in a lot better shape than he had been when Dean had found him.

"Finding people is what we do, Sam. I happen to be good at it."

Sam threw his head back against the headrest and pretended not to wince. If he was feeling bad now, he was going to feel ten times worse tomorrow. Good. Would serve the little shit right.

"You told Bobby her name, dumbass," he grumbled. He hadn't been talking to Dean much, but he'd given bobby the girls first and last names, and that had been enough to track her down in a small town like this. "Wasn't too hard."

Cynthia Dekker's house had been the first place Dean had checked when he went looking, and he was damn glad that that's where they'd been, and that he'd found his moron of a little brother before it was too late.

Sam rocked back into the seat, his head tilted to the side, and he let out a groan. Fuckin' hell. Dean was going to _kill_ Sam. The thought struck him then, that despite his best intentions, and his making a total fool of himself, maybe he _was_ too late.

He didn't quite get a good look at what was going on when he'd barged into Cynthia's place, and there was a very real possibility that Sam was getting fucked, or that he was fucking. Or both. Whatever. Sam had been saying 'no' and one at look at him told Dean that he really meant it, and that just made Dean's stomach clench, the thought that of his brother being forced into something he didn't want, and Dean not being able to stop it.

He was going to fuckin' _kill_ Sam!

Dean drove them another couple of hours down the interstate and then pulled into the parking lot of motel. Their usual kind, and sort of sleazy, but it wasn't like they weren't used to it. Sam was still pretty plastered, so he made him to wait in the car until he booked a room, and then dragged Sam's sloppy ass with him, luggage and all, into room 108.

He closed and locked the door behind them, grabbing Sam's neck tight in his fist, and pushing him forward, so he fell on the bed closest to the door. Sam hit the mattress and blinked up at Dean, shook his head and sat. Dean kind of wanted to just hug him, but he didn't.

"Dean, what are we doing here?" Sam asked, and Dean just looked at him for a minute before pushing into the bathroom and lifting him into the tub, clothes and all, and turned the cold water on.

He didn't bother mentioning that Dad had called with a change of plans, and they were meeting him in Delaware in a day and a half, and that they were getting there early. Dean was so pissed at Sam at the moment that he didn't want Bobby around to hear him give Sam shit.

Sam screamed when the icy water hit him, and Dean grinned, cruel and feral. "Get yourself cleaned up," he ordered, and yanked the shower curtain shut, turned around and left the bathroom. "And brush your teeth," he added, grabbing their toiletry bag out of his duffle, and tossing it onto the bathroom counter. "You smell like a fucking alley." Maybe Sam would drown in there, and that would save Dean the trouble of doing it himself.

He thought the two hour drive would have given him a chance to cool down some, to relax and maybe not want to break Sam's neck quite so much, but it turned out it didn't. Neither did the next twenty minutes of waiting for Sam to finish up in the bathroom. If anything, they made him even madder.

When Sam finally came out into the room he looked a little more alert, a little steadier on his feet than he had before. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair was still a little wet, beads of water settled onto some of the long strands, dripping down onto his chest, and scowled at Dean, like this was someone all _his_ fault, before turning around to search his bag for something to wear.

"What the _fuck_?!" Dean shouted, and jumped up off the bed where he'd been sitting, taking a step closer to Sam when he startled, and turned back around. Sam just looked at him, eyes heavy with fatigue, but blazing angry and bright, daring Dean to give him shit, but he stayed quiet. "No, seriously. What the _fuck_, Sam?"

"'_What the fuck_', what, Dean?" Sam asked, and actually a step closer to Dean, tilted his head up a little and winced a little at the probably throbbing pain, but kept steady. "I was just having a good time with some friends, and you barged in there like the fucking 'fun' police, and totally embarrassed me!"

Dean's jaw dropped and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Are you fucking for real?" he asked, the words oddly soft considering his state of mind. He honestly didn't even know where to start with that. He'd ask if Sam was high, but he already knew the answer to that. "That was you having a good time?" Ah, that was better. That time he sounded a little angrier.

"Oh, come on, Dean. You do that kind of thing all the time. And I thought you said it was okay if I dated."

Dean's mouth opened and closed a few times, great impression of a fish, he thought absently, because he just could not fucking believe that Sam was this stupid. He lunged forward and shoved Sam into the wall, hard, holding him there with his forearm across his chest.

"That was not a _date_, Sam," Dean hissed. "You fucking stayed out three hours past curfew, got drunk and high enough to seriously impair your judgement, made me and Bobby sit around worrying about your sorry ass, and almost got fucking _raped_! So no, I don't do that shit all the time."

"I didn't get _raped_, Dean," Sam denied, puffing up his chest against Dean's arm. "We were having fun."

"Fun," Dean sputtered, and relaxed his hold on Sam only push him again, hard enough for his teeth to clang. "You call that fun? Sam, you said 'no' like a hundred times. And they weren't listening. Not that I'm surprised, given you were all so fucking _wasted_! Jesus Christ, you can't honestly stand there and tell me you were just having some good clean fun."

Sam's eyes dropped then for a moment, and Dean let out a mental sigh of relief. No, of course Sam knew he'd fucked up. He'd probably only done it to get a reaction out of Dean. This reaction probably. Dean yelling at him, Dean touching him, Dean's attention focused on him completely.

But fucking hell, what could Dean do? Ignore him, and let him get away with this shit until he got himself seriously hurt, or even killed?

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said, hardening his gaze on Dean again. "Stop being so uptight. It didn't even go that far, and nobody got hurt."

"Yeah, only because I showed up!" Dean screamed, but a wave of relief washed over him at hearing Sam say that he hadn't been forced into actual sex. "Fuck, Sam, start using that giant fucking brain of yours, and stop pulling bullshit like this!"

"You're not Dad!" Sam shouted back. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Like fuck I can't," Dean growled, and he raised his fist, pulled it back ready to punch Sam, hard in the nose, but then Sam shifted against him, looked straight at Dean's fist and didn't even flinch, and Dean could feel the hard outline of Sam's erection through the towel. Fucker was getting off on this!

And then Dean snapped. He had no idea what made him do it, and he hated himself for it, hated Sam for pushing him into it, and knew he was only giving Sam exactly what he wanted, giving him his big payoff for being an idiot, but he just fucking lost it.

"Fine, Sam," he ground out through clenched teeth and flung him around, pushing him toward the bed. He reached out to yank Sam's towel off and then gave him a hard shove, landing him on the edge of the mattress, and Dean snarled when Sam blinked up at him, confused. "You want me so bad that you're willing to get yourself hurt? Or worse? Fine."

He stepped closer and shrugged out of his coat, letting it drop to the floor as he violently pulled his t-shirt off over his head, tossing it. "Well?" he said when didn't move, and toed his shoes off before he started to unbutton his pants, pulling them down and off, along with his underwear. "You just gonna fucking sit there and stare at me? Roll the fuck over!"

Sam flinched back at his harsh words and tone of voice, but Dean didn't care. This was fucking it. Dean had had enough of this shit. He wasn't hard, wasn't even close, so he wrapped the warm fingers of his left hand around his soft dick and started to message it, tried his best to tease it to hardness.

Nothing about the idea of fucking his little brother was appealing to Dean. He actually kind of wanted to throw up a little. But he was so fucking pissed off, and Sam just wasn't fucking listening, and if kept doing outrageous things just to get Dean's attention, he was going to end up getting himself killed one day.

He tried to tell himself that he was only doing it in the hopes that Sam would get the fuck back in line and act like Sam again, but there was a pretty large part that was doing it because he wanted to teach Sam a lesson.

"Dean…" Sam said hesitantly, and moved back on the bed a little, so he was sitting a few feet from the foot. He swallowed and looked down at Dean's cock in his hand, semi-erect now, and darkening with blood.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Dean taunted, pulled himself once more and climbed on the bed. He grabbed Sam by the shoulders and half pushed, half dragged him up the bed, fingers holding him tight enough to bruise.

Sam hissed in at the pain and the sudden movement, his head no doubt still killing him from all the booze, and Dean just leaned in and pressed his lips to Sam's, crushing his brother underneath him. Sam tried to turn his head away, and Dean only kissed him harder, nothing sweet or loving about it at all. It was all power, all punishment, and he opened his mouth a little to bite at Sam's bottom lip, a fierce pinch of skin that cut through the vulnerable flesh.

He pulled back panting, and watched Sam's tongue slide out to lick up the small bit of blood. He brought one of his hands from Sam's shoulder across his chest and stomach, the movement fast and burning, and he gripped Sam's cock tight in his fist, starting to pump it quickly.

"Well?" he asked when Sam stayed quiet, barely moved except to try to pull back a little before realising he couldn't. "Isn't it? You want your big brother to fuck you, don't you Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, but he didn't deny it, and the fact that his hips bucked forward, sliding his cock up to the hilt in Dean's fist at the word 'fuck', was a pretty good indication that he did want it. He'd probably thought that when it finally happened it would be a little more flowery than this, more about love and romance or some crap than as some sort of punishment/payoff for his stupidity.

Well too fucking bad, because Dean didn't even want this at all, and if he was going to do it, hell if he'd turn it into something it wasn't. He let go of Sam's dick and slid his hand down between his legs. He cupped Sam's warm balls in his hand, rolled them around for a couple of seconds and Sam's legs started to drift a little wider.

Dean shifted, put his weight between Sam's legs and pushed one up with his knee, moved his fingers and shoved one inside his brother fast and dry, crooking it once it was in.

"Ahh!" Sam screamed, and tried again to pull away, canted his hips back as far as they could go and bit his already bloody lip. He shook his head a couple of times and looked at Dean, eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he still didn't tell him to stop.

God, Dean really wanted Sam to tell him to stop, because he wasn't sure he'd actually be able to go through with this, no matter how mad he was. His cock seemed to have other ideas though, because after seeing his little writhing around in pleasure/pain, eyes laced with a mixture of trust and fear, and very clearly not as sure as he pretended that he really wanted this, had Dean fully erect and leaking fluid over his belly.

And really, it wasn't like fucking Sam was going to make much of a different at this point. He'd already done more than enough to secure him a nice cosy place in hell, so what was more act of evil?

Dean thrust his hips against Sam's thigh, let him feel how hard he was, and added another finger. He hesitated for a second when Sam cringed, hissed in pain, and his erection started to flag a little.

"Dean," Sam managed to get out, the word rough and gurgly. "Dean, I don't…"

"Gonna fuck you, Sammy," Dean growled, twisting his fingers, and looked at Sam with hard eyes. He pulled his fingers free quickly, and lifted himself up enough to roll Sam over, pressed hard on his back so that his chest was flat against the rough sheets. Sam made a vague sound of protest, but Dean wasn't listening. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering to ask Sam anything anymore. He was kind of past listening.

"That what you want? Want me to stuff you full, make you squeal like a fucking pig?"

He grabbed Sam hard by the hips and lifted him, slid his knees up under him to present his ass to Dean, dug his nails into the soft flesh of Sam's joints, and held tighter when Sam twitched away. That fucking pissed him off even more than he already was. Sam had been wanting this for years, fucking _begging_ for it, and now, because it wasn't going exactly as he'd planned, he was playing shy? Fuck that.

"You want me to make you feel it?" he asked, and Sam ducked his head, breathed out long and shaky. "Do it hard, and fast, so you'll think about this every time you sit down for a week? So you'll fucking well know better than to try any of that fucking shit you pulled tonight every again?"

"Dean," Sam said again, pretty much the only thing he'd managed since this started, and it sounded pained, more than any other time, and he tried harder to wriggle away. Dean didn't let go though, just knee-walked closer to him, settled himself snug at Sam's ass, erection sliding in between his cheeks, nudging his hole.

"Answer me!" Dean almost yelled, and he hated the sound of his own voice like that when it was directed at his little brother. Hated Sam for bringing this out in him. "Tell me what it's going to take to get you to stop being so fucking stupid. Tell me what the hell you want." Dean's voice was desperate towards the end, breaking on the last couple of words.

"No," Sam said, voice barely a whisper and he shook his head. Dean let go of his hip with one hand, and used it to slam Sam's head into the bed, because what the hell? Sam was actually telling him that he didn't want this? Now?

"Fuck that, Sammy," he said. "You fucking started this shit." Okay, that wasn't entirely true. Dean had seen it coming, had more than enough chances to stop it, or to not start it at all, and the first time they'd fooled around, it was Dean who initiated it, just like this time. But in his defence, he wasn't the one in love with it brother. Sam wasn't completely blameless here. "Practically begged me for it, and now you don't want it?"

And why did that make Dean want it just a little bit?

"Too bad," Dean said, and lined up his hips, seeing red.

"Dean, please," Sam begged, ragged and wet sounding, like he'd been trying not to cry. "No. Not like this."

Dean's grip loosened immediately, the anxious pleading in Sam's voice actually getting through a little, past the haze of anger and desperation. There wasn't really any lust to break through, not really. Sure, he was hard, and he kind of really wanted to fuck Sam at that point, but for him, it had dick all to do with getting off.

He blinked at looked down, looked at his dark and leaking cockhead, nestled against Sam, and at his brother, shaking visibly now, sobbing openly, and he let go, moved his hands and his body away from Sam like he'd been burned. He scrambled back on the bed and swallowed deep, managing to sit next to his brother without falling over or vomiting, and tried to breath.

Holy fuck. He'd almost fucked his own brother. Not only that, but he was about to do it even after Sam had said no, even though he'd been struggling against him since Dean got his hand on Sam's cock and jerked it roughly, squeezing too tight on the head, making Sam wince. He'd been about to do it even after Sam had fucking _cried_.

He'd been about to rape his little brother.

He felt tears prick his own eyes and made a very conscious effort to get himself together, to sound normal when he spoke, final and authoritative.

He had to do this. It was slightly nauseating making his point this way, but he was running out of options.

"Then we're done," he said, proud of himself that he sounded as steady as he did. It was unfair, and kind of a dick move, like telling your high school girlfriend that you'll break up with her unless she puts out, but at this point, he didn't really care. He just wanted it to work. Wanted Sam to get over this and cut it the fuck out.

"What?" Sam asked, shaky and terrified, and he rolled over quickly, face focused on Dean's and reaching out for him. "Dean, what?"

"I mean it, Sammy," Dean said, and his hand caught Sam's before it connected with his body. He was relieved to finally say those words. And mean them. They were done and Dean could feel a weight lifting from his chest already. "You don't want this. Don't want me, not really. Not now you could actually have me."

"Dean…" Sam started. Again with his fucking name all the time. Shit. But Dean cut him off before he could say anything else.

"And you shouldn't, Sam," he told him. "You fucking shouldn't." His voice was gruff, anger mixed with sadness, like he was trying to get Sam to agree with just because he meant it so much. "This is so goddamn wrong, and I…" he choked off, unable to finish, and a single tear fell.

Sam shifted on the bed, sliding a little closer to Dean, and he pulled his hand free of Dean's grip, pointedly moved it so that it was settled on Dean's hip, fingers warm and soft against the skin. He sucked in a shaky breath, and closed his eyes, tears drying on his cheeks and new ones welling up beneath his lids, leaking out to soak his lashes, and he lifted a leg up, wrapped it around Dean to pull him close.

"Do it," Sam whispered, and licked his lips nervously, tilting his hips in invitation.

Dean blinked. "What?" Oh, fuck no.

"Do it," Sam said again, more forceful this time.

"Fuck, Sam," Dean said, and jerked back, moving from under Sam's touch. He moved his arm toward Sam but stopped it in mid air, feeling kind of stupid. He wanted to touch Sam, but he also didn't. He wished it wasn't so fucking complicated. Finally he finished the movement, letting his hand rest gently on Sam's arm, and he felt Sam's tense muscles relax a little under the touch.

He smiled sadly and rolled Sam over, pulling him close against him, Sam's back to his front, and tucked Sam up in his arms, holding him tight and pressing a kiss to his head.

He kind of wanted to say that he was sorry, beg Sam to forgive him, for this and everything else, but how the hell do you apologise for something like this? Sam didn't seem to need him to though, because he covered Dean's fingers with his own and rocked his hips back, his tailbone brushing against Dean's cock, still half hard, and wet-tipped.

"I want you to, Dean. However you need it. Please. Just don't tell me it's over."

Dean let out a loud, violent sob, and held Sam tighter. When he'd first started this, only minutes ago, he was fighting conflicting urges. Had to try at once not to push Sam down and slide into him dry, fuck him hard and make him bleed, and try not to punch him hard, square in the face.

Now he didn't want to do either. He just wanted to hold him, make everything better, and fucking _fix him_ somehow.

He barked out a sharp laugh and Sam sucked in a snotty breath. "Rule number one, Sammy," he said, trying to sound light, to put this behind them. "Don't ever fuck someone just cause they threaten to end it." And yeah, that was possibly not the best thing to say, comparing them to an actual couple like that and all.

Sam shook a little in his arms, but based on the gross, sloppy sounds coming from his nose and mouth, it was almost certainly caused by laughter.

"I'm not gonna hurt you Sam," Dean promised. "Not like that. And I'm not gonna let anyone else hurt you either."

They were quiet for a minute, Sam absently wiping the tears off his face, and getting his breathing under control. "Don't leave me, Dean," he said, the words sounding loud and out of place in the quiet.

Dean let another tear slip down his cheek and then closed his eyes tight to stop any more from falling. Two tears today, and he'd reached his manly quota. Any more and he'd be… Sam. He loosened his grip on his brother just a little, and dropped a kiss on his bare shoulder. "Never," he promised, and the sad part was, Sam had no idea how much he meant it.

He'd never leave Sam. Not in a million years. He'd take care of Sam for the rest of his life if Sam let him. He knew that wasn't the way Sam had meant it, but was tired of arguing for the day, and just plain tired. There would be plenty of time have the same damn argument for the thousandth time in the morning.

***

A few hours later, with the low sunlight trickling through the shabby, frayed curtains, and Sam and Dean both warm and sleepy against each other, Dean knew that argument would be a long time coming, and when it did come, he'd probably lose.

He wasn't completely aware at first, which was how it managed to go as far as it did. He was still sleeping when it started, when he felt a body against his, when it rocked and touched, and his morning wood found a matching one, and his hands reached out blindly for naked flesh.

The contact of skin on skin, of an equally hard cock, leaking and smooth, brushed against his, sent sparks of lust through him, and he moaned, hands clenching at the body next to him. He pulled hips tight against his own, and hands went around his back, over his shoulders, and he felt warmth against his face, instinctually turning his head away from the kisses that were seeking out his lips.

That seemed to be fine though, because the rest of the touching didn't stop, got more frantic, more needy, until Dean thought he was going to explode from the pleasure. He groaned again, random sort of sex talk like 'oh yeah' and 'mmm, baby' coming from his mouth in hushed tones, and then he heard it.

"Dean. God, yes, Dean. Please."

Sammy.

Dean's eyes shot open in an instant, and he was suddenly very painfully aware of exactly where he was and what he was doing and who he was doing it with. He was rubbing off against his baby brother on a cheap motel bed, and he was pretty sure that he'd started it. Again. Fuck. Yeah, when he told Sam that he didn't want this, he really needed to work on his delivery. At this point, he really couldn't blame Sam for not believing him.

And the shit of it was, Dean was so fucking close that he couldn't have stopped at that point if he wanted to. Which he did. He so totally did. Because this was too much, too far. Then again, last night he'd gone about a hundred miles past too far, and compared to that, this was nothing.

Instead of stopping he bucked against Sam harder, faster, held his arms tighter and bit down hard on Sam's neck. It would probably leave a mark, and dude, that really fuckin' sucked, but pretty much the only thing Dean was capable of concentrating on at the moment was his need to come.

Sam's gasps and moans were getting more hurried, and Dean knew he was close too, which was good, because he'd feel like a real idiot of he got off and Sam didn't. He moved one of his hands to Sam's ass, gripping the cheek tight and pulling, exposing him to the warm air of the room, and Sam shivered, cried out and bucked up against him, spilling his seed over himself and Dean.

Dean followed soon after, but the orgasm was hollow, more out of physical need than actual pleasure.

He was disgusting.

He stayed where he was when they were finished, didn't bother getting up to get cleaned, or to barf in the toilet, nothing. Just lied still and let Sam kiss him on the chest and shoulder, let him hum happily to himself, like this was all fine. Like their relationship wasn't beyond fucked up, not to mention illegal, in several ways. Like Dean hadn't come within millimetres of raping him last night, and everything was just hunky fucking dory.

Sam didn't say anything, and Dean was grateful, and it was probably half an hour, maybe more, before Sam bounced out of bed, gleefully announcing that he was in the mood for waffles, and heading toward the bathroom to get ready for breakfast.

He looked happier than Dean had seen him in so long. Happy, and _safe_.

After that, Dean stopped fighting.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Okay, this time I really mean it when I say the next chapter is going to be the last one. Sorry. It just got really long on me, and ended up taking too long to finish, so I'm posting this part now, and the rest of the story next week. Hope you all enjoy! Oh, and… it's probably not getting any happier… Just fair warning.

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way, and because he half blames Dean for their situation, he thinks Dean owes him. Dean disagrees. Story follows the boys through towns and schools and boyfriends and girlfriends, and lots of nummy mixed up incestuous feelings and actions.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 16 – Dean/Sam. Neither of the boys is really happy, but Dean's trying to learn to live with their new relationship, and Sam is just about ready to change his mind. Except that he's not. It's been a pretty quiet summer. So you just know some messed up crap is going to go down, soon.

***

They didn't talk about it. They didn't need to.

Anything they had to say would have been a waste of breath anyway, because they were both too stubborn for their own good, refusing to see things any way but theirs. And they were both right, and they were both dead wrong.

They fell into a rhythm pretty quickly after the fourth time, acting surprisingly normal around each other, most of the time, almost like things used to be, and John had even commented a few times that they were working better together than they had in a while. It was kind of odd, given everything that had happened, everything that still happened in the dark of the Impala or under the sheets of a random motel bed while Dad was out.

Dean didn't fight him anymore, didn't avoid him, didn't yell or tell him it was wrong or shy away when Sam touched him, and Sam was pretty sure that Dean had stopped sleeping with other people. Well, okay, he'd gone on a date with some girl in Tennessee, but that had been to get information about a case. Sam didn't ask about it, and Dean didn't offer, but he'd let Sam lead him into the shower afterward, and jerk them both off under a warm spray of water, so Sam couldn't find it in him to be too upset.

A naked Dean was usually a pretty damn good mood lifter.

Dean seemed to have given in, cracked under Sam's pressure and let Sam take what he wanted. It still wasn't the complete acceptance that Sam was looking for, it wasn't the full reciprocation of his own feelings that he craved so much, but it was something. A start. And even if this was all he ever got, Sam sometimes thought he could be happy with that.

Dean loved him, Dean touched him and let himself be touched, and that alone was more than Sam had ever thought he would actually have.

Sam had given some ground as well. He'd stopped getting himself into trouble on purpose, and he'd stopped acting so jealous whenever Dean looked at another person, and mostly, he'd stopped trying to convince Dean to have _actual_ sex with him. He still gave it the odd shot, but he never forced the issue, or got upset when it didn't happen. He'd pretty much learned his lesson after that party in South Dakota, when Dean had flipped out and… yeah, _that_.

It wasn't that Sam didn't want sex, but Dean obviously wasn't ready, and now that they'd finally reached this mutual understanding, Sam really didn't want to push. Hell, he wouldn't even mind if Dean was a little rough, because no matter how his big brother looked at him, or how protective he was, Sam wasn't made of glass, and _wasn't_ a girl, and he didn't need sex to be all about flowers and hearts. But what he didn't want was for Dean to lose control again, and _really_ hurt him, like he almost had.

Hand jobs were great for every day, blow jobs were a rare treat, and twice more they'd stripped naked and rubbed against each other, bringing each other to orgasm with Sam's hand wrapped around their dicks and two of Dean's fingers inside Sam's ass.

So, they didn't have full-on sex, but they did other stuff. And they did it a lot. Nineteen more times, over the rest of the summer, when Sam could manage to sneak some time alone with Dean, and to date it had been the best summer of Sam's life.

He would have said that he was genuinely happy, completely content to go through the rest of his life just like this, hunting and running and hiding in the dark, killing and fucking and saving lives. He would have said that, if he didn't know that it was killing Dean.

And if Sam was a better person, if he was less selfish, if he was more like _Dean_, Sam would have stopped. But he wasn't, and he needed Dean, needed the closeness, needed to not be so alone. He was in _love_, for fuck's sake, and he was young, and that combination made you really, really stupid. Made you only think of yourself, and your need to be with the person.

Sam really didn't want to hurt Dean, and he was just twisted up inside enough to think that Dean would honestly be worse off if they didn't have this thing between them. The alternative was Dean being alone. Going from person to person for meaningless sex, and never being able to connect with any of them.

Sam truly didn't think for one second that Dean might actually prefer it that way. He knew his brother better than Dean thought. He wanted someone. Wanted stability, security, love. He wanted it almost as much as he wanted to make Dad proud. Almost. Which was why he'd never have it. Not with anyone that wasn't Sam, anyway.

So really, this… whatever it was… made sense. So much sense. And it was making Sam crazy that Dean couldn't see that.

***

"Do you love me, Dean?" he asked one night, while they were in line at the Dairy Queen in Galesburg, waiting on their order while John waited outside in the car. It was a stupid question. Sam knew Dean loved him. But maybe by bringing it up, in a place where Sam knew damn well they couldn't talk about it, it would get Dean thinking. And maybe he'd realise that he loved him in a way he'd never considered before.

"Dude!" Dean hissed, and looked frantically from side to side, to see if anyone had heard him. His eyes pinned on Sam then, wide, and his lip curled up. It was cute. Sam kind of wanted to nibble on it. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sam didn't answer, just stared back, almost smiled, because when Dean got flustered like that, it was adorable, and eventually Dean turned away, scowled at the brightly lit menu behind the counter. Grumbled, "Where the hell's our food?" and Sam gave it a couple of days before he tried to get Dean alone again.

***

"I know I'm your brother," Sam said, after the come had dried on his fingers, and the tension was starting to creep back into Dean's muscles, the relaxation that naturally came with orgasm fading as the reality of the situation started to sink in. Like it always did.

He shifted closer to Dean on the bed, lifted one leg and put it down gently on top of Dean's, not as casually as he'd have liked, but he knew it would keep Dean in place until Sam was willing to let him get up, get cleaned, and act like this hadn't happened, and that everything was completely fine, and normal. Until next time.

"And I know this is messed up, Dean." Dean sniffed out a breath, and his face got tight, like he was trying to bite back a not very nice comment. "I do," he insisted. "People don't fall in love with their siblings, they don't have sex with them. I know that. You think I wasn't freaked out when I first realised what it was that I felt for you?"

Dean took a heavy breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said, and his voice didn't crack at all, but it did sound weak. "I'm sorry that I couldn't do better for you, that you couldn't have a normal life, that I raised you so you'd grow up to think that…"

"That what? That you're the best thing that's ever happened to me?" Sam challenged, his own shoulders becoming tight, and propping himself up an elbow so he could look Dean in the eye. "That I fell in love with the most brave, strong… _good_ person I know? Cause I'm not sorry, Dean. You didn't do anything wrong. You did everything right."

Dean was quiet for a couple of minutes, and Sam wrapped an arm around him, rested his head on Dean's chest, and held him tight. Yes, Dean was right. This was fucked up, but it was all they had. And it was all Sam wanted.

"Do you love me?" he asked, barely a whisper.

Dean cleared his throat eventually, and shifted so that his hip knocked against Sam's. "Dad and I have an appointment at the police station in an hour," he said. "I should… get ready."

***

One night, Dean initiated it, completely clear-headed, and of his own free will.

Sam didn't have to do anything, didn't have to piss him off, or try to make him jealous, or look at him pointedly over supper and lick his lips to let him know what he wanted later that night. No, Dean started it all on his own.

Well, okay, Sam did have to go and almost get himself killed, by a run of the mill ghost of all things. He'd been thrown around, banged against walls, near strangled by incorporeal hands, while Dean had looked on, helpless and desperate, and firing off salt rounds, while Dad had worked furiously across town to burn the bones of an unfortunate garbage collector.

By the time they got back to the hotel, Sam was bruised, and bloodied, muscles aching and stiff, and it hurt to move. It hurt when Dean dragged him from the car and pushed him into the room. Hurt when Dean grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him, stumbling, and pushed him to sit down on the bed he'd been platonically sharing with Dean for three days.

He hurt when Dean wrenched his shirt open and put his hands roughly over the bruises on Sam's neck and chest.

Most of all, he hurt when Dean pushed him down so that he was lying on the bed, and snarled at him, hands clenching at his sides, when he said, "Asshole!", climbing over him and pressing him down, Dean's weight sitting heavily over his.

"What the fuck was that?" Dean demanded, hands gripping Sam's forearms and pressing them flat against the mattress. "You fucking well take care of yourself, moron! You make me worry about you, and I'm gonna…."

Dean trailed off, and let out a few deep huffs of breath, and Sam squirmed under him, determined. "Gonna?" he asked, and spread his legs enough that Dean fell in between them, groins pressing together, and he wrapped and arm around Dean's back, pulling him close.

"Gonna what, Dean?" Sam asked, panting and writhing. "What are you gonna do?"

And then Dean's mouth was on his, lips covering his own and hands roaming up and down his body, slipping up under his shirt, and over his sides. Sam groaned, a tiny, timid sound, and Dean ate it up, pressed harder, kissed deeper, and his hand worked under Sam's pants, gripped his hard cock, stripped it fast and needy.

Sam didn't even get the chance to touch Dean, didn't even get his own cock out of his pants. Just stayed there, trembling with want, while Dean's hand worked him and Dean's teeth crushed his lips, and he came all over the inside of his jeans.

"Do you love me?" he asked, breathless and edgy, and he didn't really expect an answer.

He didn't get one, so that was good.

"Dean…"

"Shhh," Dean told him, and his arms tightened around Sam, and he kissed him on the jaw. "Sleep time, Sammy. Dad won't be here 'til tomorrow."

And he wasn't.

***

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Sam asked, wrapping his legs around Dean's waist, and getting a good enough hold that he could lift his hips, tilt them just so, and let Dean's hard cock slide back and up.

It slid up his crack, the head teasing over Sam's hole, and Sam tensed, hands pulling tight on Dean's biceps. "God, yeah, Dean. Feels so good."

"Sam, I don't…"

"Dean," he panted, not listening. "Mmmm, Dean. Please." He twisted his hips just a little, canted to the side and hummed with pleasure when the head of Dean's cock rubbed over his hole again, pushed in just the smallest bit. "You can't tell me this doesn't feel amazing. You can't tell me it doesn't feel right."

Dean didn't, and Sam almost thought that he might be coming around. He let Sam rub against him, let his cock slide up and down between Sam's ass cheeks for a few strokes, but then pulled himself back, tilted forward again so that his cock was sliding against Sam's. His hands went to Sam's hips, held them gently, while Sam worked himself against Dean, grabbed both their cocks, and jerked them, fast and hard.

It didn't take long for Sam to bring them both off, and he closed his eyes and hummed under his breath when he felt Dean's release over his fingers.

Dean got up soon after and went to the bathroom, coming back with a wet cloth and tossing it at Sam, nodding to indicate he should clean himself up. Sam did.

When he was finished, Dean took the cloth from him, and tossed it onto the bathroom floor, before crawling into the other bed. Dad was probably going to be gone the whole night, so there was no reason for Dean not to sleep with him. No reason other than the fact that Dean just didn't want to.

He rolled over on his side to face the bed where Dean was, and slipped his legs under the covers. "Do you…" he started, but Dean interrupted him with a harsh growl.

"Dude, if you ask me one more fucking time, I'm gonna change my mind."

And that was as close to a 'yes' as Sam was likely to get. It should have sounded good, but it made Sam's heart ache. Now that Dean was finally giving into a physical relationship, he was emotionally more distant than ever, and it _hurt_.

Maybe, Sam started to think, really, honestly think, for the first time, that Dean was right. Maybe this was a bad idea. Sam wanted it, but Dean clearly didn't, and as young and selfish as he was, he really didn't want to hurt his brother.

He had a lot of thinking to do, and it was probably going to be rough.

***

Dean licked his lips and looked up at Sam, eyes hooded and blinking heavily, and shifted his weight. His knees lifted off the floor with a sticky pull, and Dean winced, face bunching up at the sound, and the knowledge that his pants were dirty with God knew what.

Dean had just blown him. For the first time. In a gas station bathroom, with Dad filling up the tank and getting them snacks only twenty feet away. Sam looked down at him, eyes lifting up as Dean rose, and he swallowed, twice.

Holy fuck, Dean had just blown him. Sure, Sam started it, dragged Dean inside the bathroom and started furiously jerking him off, but when he'd reached up and put a gentle pressure on Dean's shoulder, he'd lowered to his knees, willingly.

And it was just about the hottest fucking thing Sam had ever seen.

It was over so fast, Sam was embarrassed.

Dean coughed, and gently moved Sam out of the way, ran the water from the tap for a few seconds before he scooped some up in his hand, and rinsed out his mouth, and Sam just watched him, dumbly, and fastened his pants.

They didn't speak until they were back in the Impala, Dean following behind Dad as they drove toward Grand Rapids, and what was probably a zombie, the sun burning a beautiful shade of red in their mirrors.

"Ever thought about college?" Dean asked, when they'd been on the road for about half an hour.

Sam snorted, and looked over at his brother, slouching back into the passenger seat. "Seriously?" he asked, incredulous. "Dean, of course I've thought about it. But I… I can't. Not really." And why the hell was Dean even bringing this up? He should know better than anyone that dreams didn't matter when you were a Winchester.

"Why not?" Dean asked, and Sam could almost hear the creak of leather on skin when Dean's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "Dad and I can handle this, and… and you're smart, Sammy. Really smart. You shouldn't waste that." He coughed slightly and snorted, shook his head. "You should be happy."

Sam didn't answer for a while. For so long that Dean apparently gave up, turned up the radio and started singing along horribly to "Rush", and even Sam had to admit that 'Tom Sawyer' was an awesome song, but eventually Sam spoke. Quiet at first, and he would have thought that Dean wouldn't be able to hear him over the music, but he was obviously paying Sam a lot of attention.

"I'm not gonna be happy unless you're with me," he said, and Dean stiffened beside him, the drum solo playing out between them in the car. "I'm not gonna leave you like that, Dean."

"But you should," Dean said, his voice sounding rougher than usual, and Sam could tell that he didn't mean it. Even if he thought it was best, even if he hoped Sam would get away, get out, be normal, Dean didn't want Sam to leave. And that… was _awesome_.

"I'll think about it," Sam said, biting back a smile. But he wouldn't. He wasn't going anywhere, as long as he had Dean.

***

Dean was fucking up, and he was fucking up hard.

He just didn't know what to do with Sam anymore, didn't know how to act around him, didn't know when to say 'no', or how to keep his distance. Sam was being a little shit, yeah. Being selfish and opportunistic, but he was also vulnerable, and scared, and he was looking to Dean for comfort and assurance.

And sex.

Yeah, Dean hadn't forgotten that. Couldn't possibly forget that, since Sam seemed to want it every time they got the chance, but that didn't mean that Dean didn't _want_ to forget it.

Yeah, he loved Sam, like his dumbass shit of a brother kept asking him, and if he was honest with himself, he'd even kind of started to like the sex they had. Oh, he still hated it, as far as his conscience went, but his body was a whole different story, and when Sam touched him, Dean was finding more and more that he wanted to be touched.

He'd still prefer that it wasn't Sam doing the touching, but it felt good, and he'd do anything to make Sam happy.

As it turned out, he'd even molest him to make him happy, which wasn't something Dean really wanted to face about himself, but there it was.

He was getting off on screwing around with his little brother, and that was just… sick.

He was almost even coming to terms with it, almost even willing to just ride it until his little brother finally wised up and realised this wasn't what either of them really wanted. Until Sam got over him, or got sick of him, and moved on. Which would have sucked, because while Sam might have thought he was happy, neither of them really were, and the longer this went on, the worse off they'd be in the end.

So, while it didn't exactly look like it at the time, it was a good thing, a really good thing, when the 23rd time they screwed around, and the first time they actually had sex, that it went so disastrously wrong.

***

It started out a little different.

Dean had just been flirting unabashedly with a pretty girl who worked at the library, while he and Sam had been looking something up. Or Sam had been looking something up, and Dean has been checking out her rack, while she batted her eyelashes at him, and offered helpful suggestions, and Dean he could have taken her home, if he'd wanted.

And he did want. But he hadn't done it. It would have killed Sam, and though Dean wasn't really into their whole 'relationship' the way Sam was, Dean didn't want to hurt his brother by sleeping with people right under his nose. He wasn't going to look too closely at the fact that he hadn't slept with anybody else, period, in almost two months, because that would just be uncomfortable.

So when they got back to the motel, and Dad was still going to be out for a few more hours, and Sam had volunteered to go get them some supper from the burger joint down the road, Dean had decided to relieve some of the tension he'd worked up at the library.

He told Sam what he wanted from the restaurant, and as the door closed behind him, Dean opened his pants and pulled them down around his thighs, sat down on the couch under the window, and grabbed his cock. He moaned, low and long, at the first touch, and he didn't waste any time.

That librarian had been _hot_, and Dean just really wanted to jerk off. Wanted some time to himself, after being with Sam so damn much lately. Wanted to be able to imagine a nice pair of tits, and sweet, full mouth. A tiny waist and round hips, and a hot, wet pussy on his cock.

And he couldn't think about that when he was with Sam. He'd tried. Oh, he'd tried _a lot_. But it felt like too much of betrayal, picturing something else when he had his cock in his brother's hand.

So it was just his luck, when he started to get to the good part, the head of his cock slipping between his fingers, and balls growing heavy and tight against his body, Sam came back.

"Dean, I…" Sam started, but then shut up when he saw what he'd walked in on, his voice trailing off as he mutely shut the door behind him.

Dean offered Sam a crooked smile, felt almost guilty, which was ridiculously stupid, because there was no way in hell Dean should feel guilty about touching himself. It wasn't like Sam had never seen Dean do it before, not like he hadn't walked in on that, and worse, a dozen times before. But that crestfallen look on Sam's face, the way he bit his lip and kind of looked away, how his hands twitched nervously at his sides, made Dean feel like crap. Like if Dean had needs like that, he should have gone to Sam. Like he was cheating with his own fucking hand.

"Sorry," Sam said. "I uh… forgot to get money. Maybe just…" he mumbled, and waved vaguely toward Dean, indicating that he needed some cash. "And then I'll go. Leave you to… Yeah."

Dean shrugged and ducked his head to catch Sam's eye, forced a grin at him when he looked back. "Since you're here…" he offered, eyes darting down at his crotch, to where his hand was still gripping his hard cock, fingertips just brushing across his balls. "Might as well help me out."

It wasn't what Dean really wanted, but he pretty much didn't have a choice at that point. Either invite Sam to touch him, or hurt his stupid-ass girly feelings by sending him away so he could pull himself to thoughts of a busty brunette.

Sam's happiness would always come before his own, so it wasn't really a choice at all. And he really needed to just get the hell over this hesitation of his already, because Sam clearly wasn't going anywhere, and he knew he'd never be able to say no do him, if he really wanted something.

"Dean, are you sure?" Sam asked, hesitant, but he took a few steps closer to him anyway, slipped out of his shoes. "Look, I get it if you need some time by yourself." The 'Just as long as you aren't with anyone else' went unsaid. "I don't want to… smother you."

"God, Sammy," Dean said, screwed up his face and almost lost his erection. "What are we, chicks? I don't need space." Only he really kind of did. He just wasn't going to admit that. Not when it might make him look weak, and not when it might hurt Sam. "Now get the fuck over here and jerk me off."

Sam's eyes widened and he moved even closer, until he was standing directly in front of Dean. He blinked, and licked his lips, and his hands went to the button on his pants, shaking slightly, and Dean watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed down nothing.

"I could do that," Sam said, and he sounded quiet, nervous. "But I've got a better idea." He quickly unfastened his pants and dropped them and his underwear to the ground, stepping out of them pointedly, before he walked over to his bag on the floor under the desk. He ruffled through it for a few seconds before he went back over to Dean, holding out a tube of lube, and not meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean's jaw dropped a little, and he gaped at Sam, shook his head and tried to find the words. He thought they were finished with this. He thought Sam was done trying to fuck him, after Dean had lost it and nearly took him by force. Apparently not.

"Sam, I don't think…"

"You do think," Sam interrupted, and took Dean's hand with his free one, settled down over him on the couch, straddling him. "You think too much. That's your problem, Dean. You know I make you feel good," he said, and tilted his head to kiss Dean's neck, rubbing forward and dragging his cock along Dean's. Dean shivered at the touch, ground his teeth together and bucked up against Sam.

He couldn't really deny it, even if he hated it. Sam did make him feel good. And the feeling was getting increasingly better each time. And every time it felt better, Dean hated himself just a little bit more.

"Sammy…"

"I want you to, Dean," he whispered, the words buzzing in Dean's ear. "I love you, and I trust you, and I…" he paused and took a breath, and Dean's hands went to Sam's hips, fingers digging in tight. It was kind of awesome that would trust him with this, especially given the last time he'd almost fucked him, but it was even more disturbing.

"I know you're having trouble with this," Sam continued, his hands sliding down from Dean's shoulders and over his chest. "And I'm sorry about that, I really am. And I want to make this easy for you, but I can't. It's something you've just got to accept."

Dean wanted to laugh, wanted to push Sam away and tell him that he was crazy, and he was never going to accept this. Except he'd already kind of accepted it. If Sam was happy, Dean could deal. If Sam was _safe_, and staying out of trouble, and his biggest problem was wanting to treat his big brother's cock like a lollypop, Dean could deal.

"But I can't stand to see you like this, Dean, and if you really don't want it, you've got tell me."

"Would it make a difference?"

"I'm not gonna lie," Sam said, and he pushed his cock against Dean's again, both of them still hard. He pulled his chest back a little and removed his hands from Dean, screwed the top of the lube and squirted some on to his fingers. Looked like this conversation wasn't putting Sam off at all.

He moved his hand down and worked a couple of slick fingers inside himself, and his eyes drooped slightly in pleasure, his breathing picked up, and yeah, Dean thought he looked kind of good like that. His brother wasn't playing fair.

"I want you Dean, and it'll destroy me, destroy _us_, if I can't have you. But I don't want it to break you." Sam pushed his fingers in deeper, pumped a couple of times, and his head tilted back. Pulled them out and wrapped them around Dean's cock, and Dean let out a soft moan. "If you really don't want this, really don't want me, tell me, and I'll stop."

But Sam didn't stop. He paused a little, kissed Dean and Dean kissed him back, and then looked at him, waited for Dean to say something. After a few seconds of silence, Sam lifted his hips, tilted, and started to sink down on Dean's cock. Dean clenched his hands tighter on Sam's body, bit his lips to keep from crying out, and really, really wanted to tell Sam to stop.

But he couldn't. And not only because he'd do anything to make Sam happy. No, he couldn't lie to himself at this point, not with the head of his achingly hard dick up his brother's ass, and sinking deeper by the second. Sam had obviously been practising (maybe with his own hand, because Dean didn't think Sam was the type to own a dildo), because Dean hadn't fingered him enough for it to be this easy.

It felt good. And if it were anybody else in the world, Dean would want it. It was just too damn bad that the rest of his body wasn't on the same wavelength as his conscience, because certain parts were very ready for Sam to keep going. And when Sam finally lowered fully onto him, his ass warm and soft and so, so tight around him, shifting back and forth as Sam fought against the burn, Dean just let it happen.

He was a fucking twenty year old man, after all, and it wasn't like he could just turn his dick off.

The horrible thing about it, was that he knew Sam meant it when he said he didn't want things to be so hard for Dean, and that he'd stop if Dean really wanted. Finally. Sam was maybe finally getting that Dean was just never going to love him like that. It would just take a few words, right now, and Dean could end all this, for good.

And his little head was obviously doing the talking, because all he did was tilt his head back, and force Sam down on him harder, push his own hips up, and groan at the tight, warm slide of perfect flesh around his cock. Not even a rubber. Dean had never had sex without one before.

Sam winced, squinted his eyes, but to his credit he didn't stop, or even stutter in his movements, just raised and lowered himself on Dean, slowly at first, trying to get used to it, and then faster. He must have gotten used to it pretty quickly, because before long he felt much looser around Dean, his body more lax, and he was making soft little sounds of pleasure as he moved.

Dean was starting to rethink the whole thing about Sam not being the dildo type, because he was moving like he knew what he was doing, shifting to give himself the most please, sucking in sharp breaths of pleasure whenever Dean's cock slid over his prostate.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck, Dean was actually fucking his brother. And it felt good. It had been a while since he'd been with a virgin, and there was a kind of rush that went along with that. There was just no getting around it; he was definitely going to hell. But fuck, he'd go to hell for Sam in a second, no matter what, so he supposed this wasn't such a bad reward for that price.

It lasted a long time. Much longer than Dean thought it would have, but that was probably because Sam was moving purposefully slowly, drawing out to drive them both crazy, and to keep the pain to a minimum. But eventually it did end, Sam's hand wrapped around his own dick, and pumping it, furiously, until he shot his load over his hand and Dean's t-shirt.

His body seemed to immediately relax after that, and he went limp in Dean's arms, kissed him on the mouth and then rolled his hips. Dean was still hard inside him and Sam moaned at the sensations. "Fuck me," he pleaded, and his arms went around Dean's shoulders, encouraging him to move.

And Dean did. He flipped them over, pressed Sam down into the couch and moved over him, keeping himself buried in his brother the whole time. Sam's legs wrapped around his waist, and Dean started to pump, fast as he could, chasing his orgasm. He was desperate for it, needed it, and needed to get it over with because this was all just too much, and it came and went in a blur of kisses and cries and Sam's hands all over him.

And just as he was getting his breath back, when he'd kissed Sam on his forehead and was about to pull back, to move away and get cleaned up, and beg Sam to forgive him for this, the door opened, and John walked through.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Wow! Okay, so this is finally it. The last chapter. It's not a happy ending, exactly, but it's really not too terrible. Especially when you consider that this is pre-series, so we know what's going to happen with them eventually.

Anyway, I hope you've all enjoyed! Thanks for sticking with it! I've really appreciated all the feedback so far, and if you made it all the way to the end, it'd be super swell if you let me know what you thought :)

Title: All They Had

Pairing: Mostly Sam/Dean, a lot of Sam/OC's, Dean/OC's, slash & het.

Rating: Adult

Summary: Because of the way the boys are raised, they find it impossible to develop significant attachments to anybody but each other. A 15 year old Sam deals with that by fixating on his brother in a decidedly un-brotherly way. Dean doesn't see things his way, and the boys struggle to get along as Sam tries to convince Dean they should be together, and Dean tries not to hurt his brother too badly. Neither of them really do very well.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money, I just like to play.

Chapter 17 – Dean/Sam. Dean should know better, and John isn't pleased. Dean knew it wouldn't last forever, but Sam didn't, and they both have to deal with it. A long time passes, but eventually, Sam makes a decision.

***

Dean heard the snick of the door opening, immediately followed by the slight sharpening of the muted sounds of the street outside, and he tensed, turning his head, body instinctively lowering onto Sammy to protect him against anything dangerous. He tensed even further and held his breath, almost unable to move, when he saw his dad step through the door.

Sam obviously hadn't noticed it, too into the moment, Dean guessed, to be paying much attention to anything besides the two of them, because he tilted his head up and kissed the corner of Dean's mouth, slowly, leaving his lips there for an obscenely long time.

The door opened toward them on the couch, so John wasn't looking their way yet. He was angled in the other direction to toss his key on the table by the door, buying them a few precious seconds, which Dean used to completely freak out.

He wanted to move, wanted to jump up and run, wanted a fucking invisibility shield, anything, so that Dad would see them like this. Wouldn't look at them, and know what Dean had done.

Wouldn't know that he'd corrupted his little brother, perverted him. Wouldn't hate him as much as he hated himself. Because Dean could take a lot of things, but what he needed more than anything else, was Dad's love, and approval. And there was no way in hell he was going to approve of this. No, Dean was in some pretty serious shit. And probably, so was Sam.

But there was nowhere to go, no way to hide, and Dean's brain just fucking froze, because this? Yeah, this was pretty damn close to his worst nightmare.

"Boys, I talked to…" John said, cracking his neck to both sides, as he turned around, and then stopped, mouth closing with an audible snap when he saw them.

His brother noticed him then, the words he spoke making Sam's muscles tighten and his head snap to the side, arms frozen around Dean, even tighter than before. His fingers were digging into Dean's back, immovable and holding him so fucking close, and Dean didn't know if he should be glad about that, because at least it kept him from jumping off, and giving Dad an even better show than he was currently getting.

Because yeah, to see one of your sons on top of the other, with the other one's arms and legs wrapped around him, was pretty damn bad. But to actually see all the gory details as they separated and scrambled apart, that was worse.

John's eyes turned from shocked to hard in a flash, moved to the window above them, instead of looking at them dead on. He could still see them, but not directly, as if that somehow made anything better. Sam started to shake, just the slightest bit, underneath him, and Dean breathed out as calmly as he could into Sam's ear, the closest he could risk coming to at the moment to words of comfort, and his hands clamped down gently for a split second on Sam's arms.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, he had no idea what, because really, what the hell could he say at this point? There was no defence, no explanation, no begging for Dad not freak out, because this was exactly what it looked like. Dean popping Sam's ass-cherry on a scratchy motel sofa without even showing him enough respect to take his own fucking pants off first.

Then again, Dad didn't know this was the first time. For all he knew, they'd done this dozens, or hundreds of times before, and _shit_, but that thought just made everything much, much worse.

"Dad," he managed to say, which was a miracle in itself, even though it came out broken and choked, because he didn't think he would even be capable of any kind of speech at the moment. Okay, so the first hurdle was out of the way, but he had no idea what he was going to say next. And whatever it was, it needed to come out louder and stronger than the one word he'd managed, so he cleared his throat, took a breath and opened his mouth to try again.

He still didn't know what he was going to say, but it definitely wasn't going to be anything about the fact that he was lying on top of his half naked brother with his dick still up his ass. No, it was going to be something cool, about how Dad needed to leave, or it was none of his business, or about what he'd learned from the local cops, or hell, the _weather_. But he didn't get the chance.

"Get up," John said, cutting him off, and Sam's fingernails dug painfully into Dean's back. When exactly they'd made their way under his shirt, Dean didn't know, but they were there now, which only meant that his shirt was rucked up, and Dad was seeing… great. Just great.

Neither Dean nor Sam moved at first, just stayed pressed together with John staring at the curtain rod over the window.

"Get up!" John said again, louder this time, and so sharp that both the brothers flinched at the words. He spared them both one quick glance, one look at their faces, before he turned around, faced the other wall. To give them some privacy to get ready maybe, or just because that was John's way of indicating that any sort of discussion was over, Dean wasn't sure, but he was glad he did it.

He didn't want to have to actually do the getting up and getting decent with their fucking _dad_ watching, even if John knew exactly what they'd been doing.

Dean closed his eyes when John turned, let out a silent sigh and pulled away from Sam without bothering to look him in the eye. He knew he should have, knew that Sam must need the support right now, but he just couldn't. Didn't want to see Sam's fear, his love, his stupid fucking devotion to him, even in the face of Dad finding out, because he knew that was exactly what he'd find there.

His dick pulled free a little too quickly for both of them, and Dean bit his lip, and Sam let out a sharp gasp. Dean bit his lip even harder, because he just _knew_ Dad heard that. Yeah, this was _so_ his day.

He let his hand drift down Sam's side as he sat up, over his hip and across his thigh, paused for not even a second and moved his thumb in a small circle over the back of Sam's knee, and then he was gone, up, standing, and yanking up his pants, fastening them hastily and leaving his come-covered t-shirt hanging over the top.

He looked down at the couch, at Sam, still lying there, with his legs spread, and looking up at Dean, scared and stunned, and Dean wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, grab his hand and pull him up, hold him and kiss his hair and tell him that it was going to be alright. But he couldn't.

He just widened his eyes and looked at Sam pointedly, ordering Sam go get the fuck up already with only a look, and he only felt a little bad that Sam obeyed immediately, scrambled up off the couch at a glace, where Dad's repeated orders had gone unheeded.

He felt _a lot_ bad a few seconds later, when Sam hissed again, squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fist as he stood, the movement obviously causing a sharp pain through his anus. Dean knew that, because it wasn't like he couldn't relate. He knew what it felt like to be fucked for the first time, and he knew what it felt like to try to move too fast afterward.

And _his_ first time, he hadn't even been fucked as hard as Sam just had.

Sam looked at him and offered a half smile, reached out for Dean's hand, probably to let him know that it was okay, because Sam had no doubt seen the look of horror on Dean's face when he saw that he'd hurt Sam, even if only a little, but Dean shied away. He pulled his hand back, didn't look at Sam, but disguised it by bending over and picking up Sam's pants and underwear, and handing them to him.

Sam blinked at him before taking them, frowned slightly, but he accepted them quickly, shooting a look at John before slipping into them. Dean nodded at him when he was finished, and he ran his hands down his own front stupidly, hoping that it would somehow smooth out not only his clothing, but John's memory as well.

His dad was still facing the other way, and they couldn't exactly stay like this forever, so Dean cleared his throat, and tried once again to speak, if only to get John's attention, and get this over with. "Dad…"

John turned around in a split second. "Sam, take a walk," he said, ignoring Dean, looking straight at Sam, and sounding deadly serious. Even more serious than John usually sounded.

"What?" Sam said, protesting. And it was really just not a good time for him to finally open his mouth. It would have been better for everyone if Sam just left, and let John deal with Dean. "Dad, I…"

"Sammy!" he said again, and John Winchester hated to have to say things twice. "Now." His tone was final, and when Sam's eyes fell from his, Dean could tell Dad knew he'd won. And then he looked at Dean. "You stay put," he ordered, and Dean only nodded. Dad ordered, Dean obeyed. That was how it worked.

Of course, Sam didn't have the same regard for their father's authority, so naturally, he spoke up.

"Dad, don't blame Dean for this," he said, and Dean wanted to hug him, because it sounded so nervous and shaky and so very much like Sam was trying to take the bullet for them both, even though it would never work. Sam wasn't as scared of Dad as Dean was, but he was still scared, and that he was willing to try to get Dean off the hook was… touching.

Fuck, Dean was touched. He was turning into a girl. And at a time like this. Perfect.

Sam figured Dad was going to blame the whole thing on Dean, and let Sam off. And he was probably right. Hell, Dean would do the same, if he was in Dad's place. Even if Sam wasn't a helpless victim, like Dean knew he wasn't, he was still Dean's little brother, and Dean had done something horrible to him.

And John didn't even know that Sam _wasn't_ the helpless victim. For all he knew, Dean had forced it. Hell, it would make sense. Between the two of them, Dean was the only one that John knew was into cock, and he was older, and he had influence over his younger brother.

It really made sense that it was all Dean's fault. Even to Dean.

"Sam…" John warned, eyes narrowed and voice lowered.

"I mean it, Dad," Sam insisted, and Dean cringed. "Dean didn't even _want_ this. I pressured him into it. I practically forced him!" And then Dean cringed again, because no. The one time there had been force involved, it had been him forcing Sam. "If you're gonna punish anyone, it should be me."

John's eyes flashed, darted to Dean and then back to Sam. "I'll get to you, son," he snapped, and he sounded a whole like he meant it, and it wasn't just an idle threat. "Now, take. a. walk."

Sam looked at Dean, helpless and apologetic, his wide eyes glistening with tears that Dean could tell from experience, and knowing his brother so well, were going to come as soon as he walked out the door. Dean ached for him, but there was nothing he could do. Or, nothing he was willing to do, not in the face of their father.

He was a shit big brother, he'd come to accept that long ago, but he'd never give up on trying to be a good son, no matter how poor a job John thought he did.

The look Dean gave Sam back wasn't soft. He couldn't afford it just now, not in front of Dad, so he just gave him a brief, neutral expression, and then his eyes went straight to John's chest, not quite able to look him in the eye.

Sam looked back at their dad as well when Dean wouldn't meet his eye, and huffed out a shaky sigh. He nodded, Dean saw out of the corner of his eye, and started toward the door. His first step was awkward, obviously pained, and Sam winced as he took it. Dean knew he must have been sore as hell, but to his credit, it didn't show much beyond that first step. There was the ever so slight tension in his legs as he finished his walk, but Dean only noticed that because he was looking for it. Because he knew to expect it.

Dad was probably looking for it too, judging by the way his eyes shot to Sam at his misstep. They locked on his face and then tracked down his hips, and after less than half of Sam's journey to the door, they turned back to Dean. Dean swallowed, hard, and he couldn't help but raise his eyes to meet his father's, and the judgement and contempt he saw in them made him want to cry. Fuck.

And here he was, thinking he couldn't have possibly felt worse about what he'd done to Sam. Trust John to always be just a little bit better, at everything.

At least Sam didn't insist on sticking around to wash up first, even though Dean knew he must be feeling pretty sticky at the moment. Because pretty much the last thing Dean thought this situation needed was Sam's voice saying, "Sure dad, I'll clear out. Just give me a minute to wash Dean's jizz out of my ass." Not that Sam would have put it that way, but that's what they'd all hear.

When Sam got to the doorway he looked back at Dean, hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave Dean to deal with dad alone, and Dean wanted to punch him. Sam was off the fucking hook, at least for now, and he shouldn't be worried about Dean. Dean could handle himself.

And because he could, he risked Dad's further wrath, and quirked his lips up at one corner. Not quite a smile, but enough of one to hopefully put Sam at ease, and it seemed to work, because Sam slipped through the door, and John shut it tightly and loudly behind him.

Dean gulped. Like, full on gulped, with the tacky sound effect and everything.

***

John stared Dean down, hands folded in front of his chest and eyes blazing furiously. Dean could feel the tension radiating off him, and that meant he was in a shitload of trouble, because John was usually a pretty cool guy. It took a lot for him to show any kind of sign as to what was going on inside, he was usually so put together and closed off, but right now, Dean could read him perfectly.

Dean fought the urge to speak, because Dad obviously hadn't wanted to hear anything he'd tried to say so far, so silence was probably the best course, at least until Dad asked him for his input.

A few seconds went by, and Dean was proud of himself for not even fidgeting, for just standing still, and waiting it out, but he was nervous, and he still feeling like shit over what he'd just done with Sam, and he was about to make himself look like an idiot and start shifting from foot to foot. He didn't want to do that. Dad had taught him never to show weakness.

He hadn't taught him never to sleep with his brother, but he probably thought that went without saying.

It was kind of a relief when John broke the silence by crossing the small room in a few long strides, and backhanding Dean, _hard_, across the face. Dean's head snapped back and to the side, and his lip caught on a tooth, breaking the skin. He licked at it, tasting the sharp, metallic tang, but he otherwise didn't react as he slowly turned to face his father again.

He saw the slight shimmer of surprise on his dad's face, his actions obviously unplanned, and unexpected, though Dean had expected the hit. Hell, he'd been expecting it to be harder, and for there to be more of them. There still might. And he wasn't going to complain, wasn't going to move, wasn't going to say a word, because if John beat the holy hell out of him right here, Dean knew he'd deserve it.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" John asked him, instead of hitting him again. Dean figured the chances of another blow would probably depend on how he answered, but he didn't answer. Couldn't. Because he _hadn't_ been thinking. He'd been horny, and Sam had been there, and he'd just gotten so Goddamn used to it that sleeping with his brother was starting to become just another part of his day. And he'd gone too far.

But he couldn't tell his dad that, so instead, he stayed silent, while John hit him again. Harder this time, but the same kind of hit, the same knuckles crashing against the same place across Dean's cheekbone, deepening the bruise that hadn't yet formed, and causing more blood to drip from the cut on his top lip.

John grunted in frustration and ground his teeth together, and Dean knew that he was just as angry at himself, for hurting Dean like this, physically, as he was at Dean for what he'd done to Sam. He also knew that feeling bad about it wouldn't stop him, if he felt like Dean needed to get smacked around a little to drive his point home. Not that Dean needed it.

All the physical pain in the world couldn't possibly be as bad as the way John was looking at him, disgusted and hurt and angry and _betrayed_. John had trusted him with Sam, and he'd betrayed that trust. Neither of them needed to say it, but they were both thinking it.

"How long has this been going on?" John asked, and Dean thought about lying, thought about telling him it was the first time, but it wouldn't really have made a difference. Besides, with the way John was looking at him, staring so intently, he'd know in a second if Dean wasn't telling the truth.

Apparently he took too long thinking about it, because John raised his hand again and his jaw ticked, and he growled, "Answer me, Dean."

"Pretty much all summer," Dean answered, sounding very, very small. Really, it had been going on a hell of a lot longer than that, since just after they'd left Ann Arbor and Dean had caught Sam with those two older guys, and he'd let Sam rub off on his leg. Hell, really it had been going on a lot longer than that, it just hadn't been physical until then.

"Three months?" John asked, and he actually looked surprised. "You've been fucking your Goddamn little brother for _three fucking moths_?!"

Dean wanted to say that he was sorry, that he knew he'd hurt Sam, knew he'd hurt Dad, but he didn't know how. Instead he just nodded, weakly, and braced himself for another blow.

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" John bellowed. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

John looked at Dean, paused, as if waiting for an answer, but Dean assumed that question was rhetorical. The answer was a whole hell of a lot, that's what was wrong with him. He knew how sick it was, what he'd been doing. John kept talking, when Dean didn't.

"I count on you to look after him when I can't, not to pander to his fucked up little crush! For fuck's sake, I thought I could trust you! Thought you'd know better than this."

"Dad, I…" And wait… _crush_? Dad knew about that? Shit, no, he didn't want John to think that any of this was Sam's idea. Dean was already in shit for this, so there was no reason to bring Sam down with him. No reason for Dad to think he was just as perverted.

"I know. I fucked up, and I can't even tell you how sorry I am about that. But Dad, it… Sam didn't… It was my fault, okay?"

"You're fuckin' right it was your fault," John snapped. "You're a fucking grown man, Dean, and you should how wrong this is. You should have told him 'no'. And you should have fucking kept telling him 'no', because you're his _brother_, and you're supposed to look out for him. Not fuck the poor kid."

"Sam didn't…"

"Bullshit, son," John said, but his voice was starting to get quieter, a little more calm, and at least he'd called Dean 'son', which was good, as far as this kind of conversation went. "You think I'm blind?" he asked, and then rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Actually, probably wouldn't be far off, considering I had no idea what the two of you have been doing all summer."

"But no," he said, voice at a normal volume, and he sighed, almost resigned. "I see the way that boy looks at you, Dean. And it ain't just the way a kid looks at his big brother. He's been doing it for years. I figured I never needed to say anything to him about it, because it wouldn't matter. I didn't think you'd ever actually give him what he wanted, because I also see the way you look at him."

"Dad…" Dean tried, the word a plea, begging him to please stop. He didn't want to talk about this.

John ignored him. "You love him, Dean, I know you do. You love him like a brother, and I can see how hard it's been on you, knowing how he feels and trying not to hurt him. But son, giving in to this sick infatuation of his is worse for him than any kind of rejection."

"I know." He did. He really, really did. And that was most of the reason he was so angry with himself. He'd been too weak, and he'd just wanted to make Sam happy. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," John told him, his eyes softening with sympathy for a split second before they hardened again, along with his voice. "But he's young Dean. Doesn't know what he wants and doesn't understand how he feels. He doesn't know any better, because you're all he's ever known. But you do know better. Fuck!"

Dean jumped a little at the increased volume of the last word. "I know," he said again, because he did. Dad was completely right, and he had absolutely no excuse.

"I… God, I thought I could _trust_ you," he said, and Dean's eyes started to water at how absolutely crushed John sounded. He was pissed, sure, but more than, he was devastated, couldn't believe that something like this had actually happened. That his first born son, brave and strong and dependable, had taken sexual advantage of the crush his little brother had on him. "You really let me down."

Dean couldn't hold back the tears anymore, not after that, and they started to flow freely down his face. Not just a few either. Dozens fell, his eyes turned red and his face got blotchy, but he didn't move, didn't look away from his father, didn't try to hide behind wiping his face, or rubbing his nose. He didn't deserve any privacy. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and the words were desperate. _He_ was desperate. He needed to make this better, needed for John to forgive him. Needed for Sam to.

This time John didn't offer any kind of encouraging look, just leaned closer, poked a pointed finger at Dean's chest and told him, low and deadly serious, face only inches away from Dean's, "This stops now, you hear me? _Now_."

Dean nodded and sniffled a little, tilted his chin up to look directly into John's face. "Yes, sir," he said, and prayed that John wouldn't know that he was lying. He really did want it to end. Hell, he'd never wanted it to start in the first place. And he'd do anything his dad asked him to, anything to make him proud, but he knew himself well enough to know that the next time Sam asked, Dean was going to say yes. He just wasn't capable of resisting him.

But Dad must have known he was lying, or he just wanted to make extra sure Dean was telling the truth, by taking away any possible chance of them continuing to fuck, because what happened next actually surprised Dean.

John pulled back and sighed, rubbed a distracted hand through his hair and over his face, and turned to face the door. His hand stayed on his chin for a few moments, and Dean knew he was thinking about something, coming to some sort of decision, and eventually he turned back to Dean.

"When Sam gets back, you boys get your stuff packed and get on the road. We're going to Pastor Jim's."

"What? Why?" Dean asked, face drawn in confusion briefly before he remembered that he really wasn't in any position to be asking any questions at the moment. Now more than ever he really just needed to nod and follow orders. Dad did answer him though, which surprised him more than the actual answer did.

"We've talked about it before," he started, and Dean assumed that he meant him and Pastor Jim. "He said that you boys are always welcome to stay with him if we need it. Even talked about the idea of Sam sticking around with him for a while, going to school there. I think it's time we gave that a shot."

Right. Because it was almost September already, and school would be starting up again in less than a week, and if Sam was at Jim's place for the whole year, and Dean was off hunting with Dad, the two of them would have no choice but to stop their screwed up little fling.

It actually wasn't a horrible idea. Dean wouldn't have to feel bad for not really wanting to be with Sam that way, and he wouldn't have to feel even worse when he did it anyway, and Sam would actually get to spend an entire year at one school. His last year of high school, too. He might even find himself a boyfriend. Or girlfriend.

"Yes sir," Dean said, and he knew he sounded a little too enthusiastic. John looked at him, nodded once, and turned to leave, hand on the doorknob. "Where are you going?"

"I'll drive ahead, meet you there. I have some calls to make. Besides…" he paused, and looked back at Dean. "I want you to be the one to talk to Sam. Tell him what's going on, and why. I just hope you haven't fucked him up for good with this, Dean."

And with that, he left.

***

When Dad told him to take a walk, Sam didn't take that literally. He'd only walked as far as the corner of the building, ducking behind it and waiting, watching the door. It hadn't taken as long as he'd thought, his imagination running away with him, and conjuring up all sorts of horrible situations, in which Dean would end up beaten and bloody and left for dead, while Dad let out all his anger.

It wasn't as long as he'd thought, but it was still longer than he'd hoped, and when John left the room, probably not ten minutes later, Sam bounced on the balls of his feet, sat still and ready, impatience oozing from every pore. He watched as he crossed the parking lot, got into his car, and drove away, and when the Sierra had rounded the corner, Sam practically tripped over his own feet in an effort to get to the room, to _Dean_, as fast as he could.

He didn't even bother knocking, just pushed it open. He wasn't surprised that it was unlocked, but he _was_ surprised that he was when he realised he was crying when he got inside. He didn't even remember starting, but the taste of salt on his lips was unmistakable.

Sam shut the door behind him and looked at Dean, who had his back to Sam and was staring blindly at the bed.

"That wasn't a very long walk," he said, and Sam felt cold, Dean's tone suggesting that he wished Sam had been gone longer.

"I didn't go far," Sam told him. He stepped forward and took a breath. "Dean, what happened?" It was killing him that Dad had made him leave, and he hadn't been around to see how he reacted. He really wanted to know how it went.

Dean didn't turn around to look at him, and Sam tried not to physically shake, he was so damn scared. Scared of what Dad had done to Dean, scared of what Dean was thinking as a result, scared of what Dad was going to do to _him_, when he got around to it.

"Dean, what…"

"Get your bag packed," Dean said, and it was his no-nonsense tone, the one that Sam usually just agreed with, the one that made him comply, no matter what. But Sam was so freaked out this time that it didn't work like that. There was too much he needed to know, too much he needed settled, before he could even hope to act normally.

"What happened?" he asked, steady as he could, and closed the distance between him and his brother, touched his hand to the outside of Dean's arm. Dean flinched, but Sam didn't stop touching him. He waited until Dean was still, and then his hand clenched tighter. "Dean. What happened?"

Dean lifted up his arm then, moving enough to actually shrug Sam off, and took a couple of steps out of his range. That happened to put him in line with one of the beds, and when Dean's knee bumped into the frame, he sighed and turned, sat down, arms falling to his sides, hands resting palm down on the mattress.

Sam let him go and watched, eyes widening as he went. The side of Dean's face was puffy and swollen, slightly dark, and Sam knew by experience that it would only get darker. His lip was already turning red, puffed up and cracked, with little flecks of darkening red, and at that moment, Sam had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to make John pay for this.

For hurting the person he loved, for marking up such a beautiful face, for making Dean look at Sam like he was afraid to touch him. Sam loved his father, of course he did, but it was nothing compared to how he felt about Dean, and seeing this now just about killed him.

"What did he do to you?" Sam whispered, going to Dean and dropping to his knees, hand coming up to trace careful fingers along the burgeoning bruise. "God, Dean…"

"Nothing I didn't deserve," Dean answered, harsh and to the point, flinching back at Sam's touch.

"You didn't deserve this, Dean," Sam said, and ignored the tilt of Dean's head, the slight leaning of his body to get away from him. He put his right hand on Dean's left shoulder to hold him still, and he was surprised when it actually worked, and then let his left hand go to Dean's head, the fingers starting in his hairline and working down over the bruised side of his face, gently and slowly, a caress in contrast to what Dad must had done, and ended up with his fist cupped around the back of Dean's neck.

Dean shivered, enough so that Sam noticed, but he didn't pull away, which Sam counted as a victory. "I deserve this and more, after what I did to you."

"Dean, it's okay," he said, and his fingers tightened before letting go, and his hand dragged down Dean's back. He didn't know what exactly about this whole thing was okay, but he needed to tell Dean that it was. Needed him to hear anything that might make him feel better.

He wasn't stupid. He knew how Dean felt about Dad. Knew that Dad's opinion mattered to him more than anything else in the world, and knowing that Dad was disappointed, especially because of this, must be killing him. Even without the mark on his face and the blood on his mouth, Dean must be feeling like hell.

Dad probably hated them both, and Dean probably hated Sam because of it, but Sam couldn't help but want to comfort his brother.

"No, Sammy," Dean said, shaking his head. "It's not okay. It's anything but okay. Dad trusted me. _You_ trusted me. And I let you both down. I should never have…" He trailed off and looked down, rubbed a hand over his swollen face and didn't even start at what must have been a painful touch. "I'm so, so sorry, Sammy. Please, forgive me."

"Forgive you?" Sam asked, eyes wide, and falling back a bit, tripping over his own bent knees. Okay, _now_ he was pissed off. "Dean… I _wanted_ it! I'm the one who wanted it! I practically… practically forced you. If anyone should feel bad about this, it's me."

Dean shook his head, again, and finally raised his hand to swipe Sam's hand away, fingers on Sam's forearm, and pushing until he was far enough back, and they were no long touching. "You didn't. You didn't know, Sam, and I… I should have been stronger. I shouldn't have done this to you, shouldn't have screwed you up so bad."

"_No_, Dean," he insisted, and took a sharp breath, trying to get his temper under control. Yelling at Dean until he got it probably wasn't going to work. "You didn't do anything wrong. Like I said, between the two of us, I'm the one that should feel bad."

"Sam…"

"I don't though," Sam continued, ignoring Dean. "I can't feel bad about this. I love you, Dean, and I want this. Want _you_. This summer has been… God, Dean, it's been so fucking good."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, I do. You think I'm young, think I'm stupid, think I don't know any better. I know that. But Dean… I want this. And you showed me that you want it too." He wasn't sure whether that was actually true, but Dean had fucked him not twenty minutes ago, so it was a pretty safe bet.

"I know you're upset because Dad found out, and I know he told you that we had to stop." He paused and looked at Dean, waited for confirmation of that fact.

"Of course he fuckin' did," Dean scowled. "What the fuck did you think? He'd be pleased as fuckin' punch that his sons were fucking each other?"

Sam nodded, but didn't bother getting defensive. It probably wouldn't help. But shit, he really wanted to. Wanted to yell, and pout, and tell Dean to let himself love him, no matter what Dad thought. That would never work though, because Dad's opinion meant more to Dean than anything else. Even Sam.

"I know, Dean. I do. And I don't like it either. I don't want him to be upset with either of us. But he saw us, and there's nothing we can do about that."

"We can stop," Dean offered, looking at Sam like he was kind of on the slow side.

"We don't have to," Sam said, feeling kind of desperate, because he knew that was where Dean was steering this conversation, and Sam really didn't want to get there. "We can just be more careful. Tell Dad we stopped, and he won't ever know."

"Sam, no," Dean said, and he sounded so weak that Sam wanted to cry. "Please, no. You didn't see his face. He wasn't just mad, he was fucking _crushed_. And he made me promise, no more, and I… I'm weak, Sammy. When it comes to you, I'm weak, and if you ask me, I can't turn you down." Dean sniffled, and a new wetness was forming in his eyes, to match Sam's. "So I'm beggin' you. Don't ask me again."

Sam didn't really know how to react to that. He could tell that Dean was deadly serious, more so than he'd even been before, and something inside him just… crumbled.

"But…" he heard himself saying, but he honestly didn't realise that he was actually saying it. "Dean, I…" He cut himself off, didn't even know what he wanted to say. 'Dean, I love you', 'Dean, don't let Dad do this', 'Dean, I don't blame you, I never have and I never could'. He kind of wanted to say all of things at once.

"Go pack, Sammy. We're hittin' the road in a few minutes."

"But Dean…" he said, and leaned in closer, hands closing over Dean's ribs, fingers sliding down his back to hold him just how he wanted. Right in front of him, and so damn beautiful. He couldn't possibly finish what he wanted to say, and it was enough to hold Dean so close, even for just a moment. It was enough until it wasn't.

"Just… Go pack, Sammy," Dean said, sounding very final, and the tone induced a panic in Sam unlike any other he'd ever experienced. To a level he almost couldn't stand.

"_Dean_," he pleaded, against his better judgement, and hoped against hope that Dean would listen, that he wouldn't go anywhere, that he would be with Sam a long as he needed him. Forever.

"Just…" Dean said, tearing his gaze away from Sam and looking randomly at the carpet. "Go."

"Where are we…" Sam started to ask. But Dean stood up quickly, turned his back and walked over to the table, stuffing random things, some of which Sam didn't even think belonged to them, into his own bag, and Sam sighed.

There was no point in arguing at this point. Dean was following orders, doing whatever Dan told him to, because they'd been caught in very compromising position. And he knew Dean was feeling like shit, feeling responsible, and there was nothing Sam could do about that, not now.

So he lowered his eyes, moved in again, closer to Dean, put his hands on Dean's shoulders and spun him around. Dean went with him for almost a second, but then froze up, hands on Sam's stomach and pushing him back.

"Go," he said, and it almost sounded like an order, but for how broken it came out. The word was barely passed his lips, and Dean had his face turned to the side, unwilling to look at Sam. Unwilling to show Sam his face, show him how badly he was hurting, and how guilty he felt, because he wasn't strong enough to keep it in his pants.

Sam didn't see it that way, at all, but he knew Dean did, and he knew Dad did, which was the important thing, as far as Dean was concerned. Maybe it was better to give him some space, and pick this up later, when everyone had had some time to cool off, and Dean had come to know that Dad still loved him, regardless.

And Sam had no doubt that Dad would still love Dean. He'd always love Dean. Anyone who'd ever known Dean would always love him. That couldn't be helped. Sam was under that same rule, and he didn't want to help it, and he knew Dad wouldn't either.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and took several steps back from Dean. "Okay," he said, careful not to betray any emotion, and willing to wait until Dean was ready to talk. "I'll be ready soon."

He turned around and headed into the bathroom, started throwing some stuff into his bag, and he didn't even know if it was his or not. He wasn't thinking about it enough to care. He was only thinking about Dean, and how he was going to make things okay, after this whole thing with Dad, but he had to at least pretend he was cogent.

When his bag was full, and the bathroom was empty, he took a breath, huffed it out again and went out to face Dean, and follow him into the Impala.

***

The drive to Blue Earth was long. And it felt longer.

Dean told Sam that he was going to be staying there for his senior year, and he said it like it was a good thing, because really, it was. He'd get to have at least a little bit of stability, get to meet people, make friends and keep them for a while. He wouldn't have to hunt, he'd be able to concentrate on school, and a social life, and it would be good for him.

He didn't bother pointing out that it would make it easier for them to stop screwing if they weren't even in the same sate, because Sam knew that. That was the entire fucking point.

Sam was quiet, obviously unhappy, and he ignored all Dean's attempts at inane conversation, but that didn't stop Dean from trying. He talked about music, about his car, about the weather, about the latest summer blockbuster that they hadn't got around to seeing, and got little more than a few monosyllabic grunts in response.

It wasn't until he brought up the small alcove in the basement of Pastor Jim's house, that he got a response. It was around the corner from the library, where the lighting was just right and the stone of the walls shielded the view from the stairs, and Dean had brought a girl there once, when they'd been staying there a few weeks. Fucked her on the floor, on one of the couch cushions, and they'd heard the footfalls of Dad coming down the stairs in plenty of time that they could get decent again.

He told Sam about it. Not his own experience, because that would have been tacky, but told him it was there, and what it could be used for, and he tried to smile. He didn't want to leave Sam for a whole year, but he really did want his brother to have some sort of normal high school experience. An experience Dean never had.

And messing around with pretty girls and trying to hide it from your parents… or your pastor… was pretty damn normal.

"What the hell are you saying, Dean?" Sam asked, using more words than he'd spoken over the previous 200 miles. "You want me to bring random people back to Pastor Jim's house and fuck them in the basement?!" Incredulous really wouldn't do justice to Sam's tone.

"Well…" Dean said, tilting his head, and cracking a half smile. "I wouldn't say _random_ people. But you'll meet people, and you might like some, and…" he trailed off, the rest of the sentence pretty self-explanatory.

"I don't want anyone else, Dean."

"Well too bad!" Dean almost shouted, and then he took a deep breath. He didn't want to yell at Sam. Not over this. He knew this was hard on him. Hell, it was hard on Dean, too. "You and I… this… has to end. You _know_ that. Dad would…" he snapped his mouth shut, lips pursed between his teeth. He didn't want to talk about Dad anymore, or how disappointed he was. "We're gonna be apart, Sammy. For a fucking year. You telling you're gonna be happy to be alone that whole time? Especially when you know we can't be together even after?"

"I wouldn't say '_happy'_", Sam said, and his pout was almost cute enough for Dean to laugh. "But Dean… _you're_ the one I want. Anyone else is just going to be a poor substitute. Maybe… Maybe after I'm done school, and I get back together with you guys… Maybe it will be different. Maybe we can…"

"Sam, _no_," Dean insisted, shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut tight for as long as he could, considering he was driving. "This whole thing just wasn't right. You've got to know that. And with Dad finding out…" he sighed in frustration and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "You're gonna have a good year, little brother. You're gonna ace all your classes, and your gonna make friends, and… and you're gonna meet someone. Don't shut yourself off from that just because you're thinking about something that can't ever happen."

Dean was expecting some sort of rebuttal, but Sam didn't argue any more with him, just sunk back into his seat and stayed quiet for the rest of the trip. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe, deep down, Sam knew it was for the best, too.

***

Things were tense at first, between Dean and John. Dean didn't quite now how to act, now that it was just the two of them, now that Dad had seen him fucking his little brother.

He tried to be as normal as possible, followed orders, did what he was told, because that's what he knew how to do, and outside of 'business' he didn't talk to his father at all. Didn't even look at him, really.

It turned out not to be a problem, because John was avoiding Dean just as much. Didn't even make eye contact while they were discussing a case, and as soon as they were done, John would disappear, and not come back until he had something else for them to hunt. At least for the first little while.

Eventually though, it got easier. Shop talk evolved into actual conversation, and looks at the map, or the police report strayed up to faces, and after a few months, they managed to find themselves actually laughing at some stupid joke over a beer at bar.

It wasn't what it used to be, but it could have been a whole lot worse, and Dean had learned long ago that you should be grateful for what you've got, and not bother pining over things you thought you were missing.

***

Sam had a somewhat easier time adjusting.

He didn't have a disapproving father to deal with 24/7, only a friendly pastor who had no idea he'd been sleeping with his brother. Pastor Jim was incredibly welcoming, not that Sam had thought he wouldn't be, gave him the spare bedroom, chores, a curfew and an allowance, and it was incredibly domestic.

Almost overly so.

The sheer normality of it was making Sam feel a little off, but Dean had had a point. This was what he wanted. What he'd wanted for so long. To stay put, to just be a teenager, to mow the lawn, and rake the leaves and wash the supper dishes, do his homework and be home by ten.

Oh, he missed Dean. Missed him like he would miss his right arm, and cried himself to sleep some nights, wishing he could be with him. But this… here in Minnesota… it might not be so bad.

***

One day bled into the next for Dean. Like it always did. For a hunter, time didn't have much meaning, and now that he didn't have Sam to take care of, all Dean's efforts were focused on the hunt.

He was better at it than he'd been before, braver and almost reckless, throwing himself into the work with little regard for anything but killing whatever evil son of a bitch they were facing, and staying alive.

He knew his dad could look after himself, and without someone to protect, Dean was free. He was awesome and beautiful and deadly, and he would have given it up in a second if he could have had Sam with them again.

He knew he was doing good, knew this job needed doing, and knew he was on his way to being the best hunter out there, after his dad, and that was almost enough most days.

That, and the pretty girls falling all over themselves to try to get his attention whenever they stopped somewhere.

But what he liked most, the times that actually put a smile on his face, a real and honest one, was when he'd sneak off to answer a call, or to make one.

He still talked with Sam. A lot. At least once a week, and he made sure to hide it from John, just like Sam hid it from Jim. And when they talked, they talked about almost everything. How school was going, how hunts were going. Stupid line-ups at 7-11's, idiot librarians, and the creepy fat babies on Maury.

The one thing they didn't talk about, was _them_. No mention of what they'd done, what they couldn't do anymore. Dean didn't tell Sam about his many meaningless trysts, and Sam didn't tell him about anyone special. That was okay. They were probably better off not talking about it, although honestly, Dean would have loved to have heard that Sam had someone. That he wasn't alone, and that he was happy.

John would be going back for him once he'd finished school, and Dean just really wanted Sam to have something good, before coming back to this life.

***

Halfway through the school year, and Sam was actually enjoying himself. He was doing well, like he knew he would, he was helping out Pastor Jim around the house, attending regular church services with him, even helping to heard up the kids for Sunday School. He was learning about God, getting answers to questions he'd been asking himself for a long time, and asking even more new ones, that didn't have any answers.

He prayed, and he worshiped, and he developed an entirely new point of view. Not one that made him think that sex with his brother was wrong – nothing could do that. But he gained an appreciation for God, the angels, beings he'd never been taught about before, but garnered instant feelings of love and respect in him.

He was also making friends. People he studied with, and went out to movies with. People that he laughed with and talked to. People he really liked.

He still couldn't let Dean go, though. Didn't want to for a second. So he made time, every week, looked forward to it, and sometimes counted down the hours, and tucked himself away in that alcove in the basement that Dean had told him about, with his cell phone.

Hearing Dean's voice always made everything just a little bit easier, even if they never said anything of consequence, and all Dean could ever talk about the latest 200 pound four-year-old.

It still made Sam smile, every time.

But Dean wasn't with him, and neither was Dad, and Sam was really starting to get used to life like this. And starting to think that it wouldn't really suck if it went on a while longer.

He knew Dean wouldn't ever love him, not like he wanted, and they wouldn't ever have the kind of relationship that he wanted. Not really, and especially not now. And it _sucked_. It hurt, and it made him want to cry, but ultimately, there was nothing Sam could do about it.

And he just didn't think he was ready to go back to that life, go back to _Dean_, without really having him.

Dean had mentioned college to him once, and Sam had thought about it even before then, in a sort of abstract way, but… but maybe it was actually a good idea. His family would still be there when he was done, and it might give them all a bit more of a break, which could only be a good thing.

Stanford was nice, he'd heard. A great school, and the weather was decent, and Sam had been working so hard that he had the grades to do pretty much anything he wanted.

***

John wasn't perfect, but he was damn good at what he did. He made his mistakes, Dean knew that, and he knew that sometimes, when John was doing what he thought was right, he was actually pretty damn wrong. He never said it though, not even when innocent people got hurt, or when John came back the motel nearly in tears, shoulders hunched and drowning his sorrows in a fresh bottle of Jack.

John was his father, John was in charge, and his word would always be law. Dean didn't even really mind it that way, except when he had to pick up the pieces, had to tell him that it was going to be okay, even when Dean didn't even know if he believed it himself.

Things between them had levelled out, and they'd both all but forgotten about Dean and Sam's little thing, but for the fact they completely hadn't. They didn't talk about it, anyway, didn't even think about it. Didn't let it bother them. They'd moved past it. And now it was just the two of them, for a little while, anyway, and even if most of their time was clouded in darkness and death, Dean kind of liked it.

He didn't think he could take it forever, though. He'd be happy to have Sam back, to have the oppressive weight of John's fierce intensity for the hunt, his single-minded determination, not Dean's alone to bear. Hell, maybe someday, maybe soon, he'd go off on some hunts of his own. Be in charge of himself.

He'd be good at it. Damn good. But not just yet. He still had a lot to learn.

***

Sam dated, a little.

***

Dean fucked, a lot.

***

First it was a girl. Her name was Melissa. She was kind of pretty, and a year younger than Sam. Shy, but sweet, and Sam had liked her right away. He hadn't wanted to, because he was still busy being in love with his brother, but Dean wasn't there, and Melissa was, and it just kind of happened.

They went out for three and a half weeks.

It ended right after they'd had sex for the first and only time, on her twin sized bed, after school and before supper, while he parents were still out at work. Sam's first experience with heterosexual sex could have gone a little better, but the level of skill they'd both shown had nothing to do with the relationship ending.

"Sam…" she said, awkwardly buttoning up her blouse, and eyeing Sam, sitting beside her on the bed, drumming his fingers over his knees. He'd gotten dressed in record time. "You're not really into this, are you?"

He sighed, and his tongue shot out to lick over his bottom lip. Shit. He liked her. He really did. But she was right, he wasn't into this. He was into someone taller, more built, hard muscles under soft skin, a cocky smile and the most beautiful eyes Sam had ever seen.

He thought that sex would bring him and Melissa closer, would make him think that she was what he wanted, but he'd been wrong. He just felt uncomfortable, and horrible, and really, really sorry.

"I like, you," he said. "I do. I just…"

"That's okay," she said, and offered him a sympathetic smile. "I'm getting over someone, too, and… this wasn't the best idea."

Sam snorted and smiled back, just as they heard the front door open, and Melissa's mother call out, "I hope you're hungry! I've got pizza!". They both laughed a little, and Sam put a hand on her knee, fingers closing warmly over it.

"Friends?" he asked.

Her smile widened. "Friends."

After that, things between them had been great.

***

There was also a boy, several moths later, but it hadn't lasted more than a couple of dates, and they didn't do anything below the waist, so it was hardly worth mentioning.

***

Dean used pretty much every available opportunity to sneak off and get laid.

Girls, guys, younger, older, it didn't matter. If Dean was attracted to them, and they were attracted to Dean, they were fair game.

He knew it was a coping mechanism, knew he was doing it to forget about how bad he felt that Sam wasn't there any more, that Dad would always and forever look at him like he'd kicked him in the chest, but that was okay. It worked. At least while he was in the middle of it.

The sex was always good. Even if the person he with wasn't particularly skilled, Dean knew how to make it good. And he liked it, got off on it, went home happy and satisfied afterward, and it wasn't usually until the next morning that the sinking loneliness would set in, and his fingers would itch with the unconscious desire to dial Sam's number.

He was completely satisfied, sexually, but if Sam had ever been right about anything, it was that Dean needed Sam on an emotional level that nobody else could match.

***

When John and Dean got back to Pastor Jim's house, it was late June. Sam had graduated, and the strawberries out back were starting to flower, and after the expected pleasantries, Jim had excused himself and headed over to the church. That's when they found out.

Sam was going to college. Stanford. He'd applied, he'd gotten a scholarship, and he'd already lined up an apartment and part time job. Dean just stared dumbly as Sam talked, almost non-stop, clearly nervous and obviously hopeful, while Dad yelled.

Looking at Sam like this, hearing about his plans, what he'd managed to accomplish, Dean couldn't help wondering when the hell his little brother grew up like this. Dean was kind of pissed off, sure, but he was also really fucking proud.

It hurt, hearing it, especially like this, just out of the blue when Sam had never even mentioned it before. Dean and John had come back, expecting to pick Sam up and keep on hunting, all three of them, now that Dean and Sam had had enough time and space to get over their physical relationship.

Not that it was something two brothers and their father could ever really 'get over', but the relationship itself was over, at least to John's satisfaction, and they'd come back here to make their family whole again. As whole as it could be.

But Sam had other plans.

And Dean really wanted to be happy for him, to smile and hug him and say 'good luck', and 'I'll see you at thanksgiving', like normal brothers did. But he couldn't. That just wasn't the way the Winchesters worked, and Sam's going away to college was more serious than most other kids, and it was more final than him just spending a year at Jim's house. This was Sam deciding he couldn't do this anymore, that he didn't want to live his life like this, like Dean and John did. It was Sam getting out. Abandoning them.

At least that's what John said, when he and Sam blew up at each other over it, and John told Sam to 'stay gone'. Sam didn't see it that way, said he only wanted an education, and that he was only a phone call away, and that he'd be there when they needed him. He looked at Dean when he'd said that last part, but Dean didn't react.

He couldn't. He didn't even really know what it was he was feeling. A part of him felt like Dad did, was so hurt and angry that Sam would just leave them like that, but a less selfish part was glad he was doing what would make him happy. What would hopefully keep him safe, and let him be normal.

That part would probably win out, over time, because Dean was never good at being selfish. Not when it came to people he really cared about. He was glad Sam wasn't like that. It would mean he'd get to live _his_ life, instead of the one someone chose for him.

The argument lasted a long time, and Dean kept his mouth shut throughout. There was no way in hell he could take sides in this, no way he could choose between his dad and his brother. And even if he could, he knew better than to argue with John Winchester. Sam, apparently, didn't, and it made Dean smile inside.

When it was over, and John stormed out of the house, slamming the screen door shut behind him, storming off and starting up his truck, Dean and Sam were left alone. Sam stared at Dean, and Dean stared at a scuff in the paint next to the door that Dad had just slammed, and the silence that drew out between them was a presence in the room, heavy and oppressive, almost crushing them.

"Well," Dean said, clearing his throat and trying to sound casual. "I guess you better get packed. Call the bus station and stuff."

"Dean…"

"You probably don't want to be here when Dad gets back. I know you didn't plan on leaving this early, but it's probably a good idea, considering."

"Dean."

"I can give you a ride to the bus station if you want. I'll get the phone book."

"Dean!"

"What, Sam?!" Dean snapped, his voice raising. He was trying to be calm about this. Rational and supportive, but he couldn't help it if he was hurting over it. "There's nothing to say. You're leaving. I'm helping. Let's go." He really hoped Sam understood. Got that he didn't want him to go, because he couldn't imagine going through life without Sam, even after a year apart, but that by offering to help, he was showing as much support as he could, showing Sam that he wanted what was best for him, even if it hurt.

Thankfully, Sam didn't push. Just looked at Dean for a while, and it made Dean's fingers fidget at his sides and his teeth work at his lower lip. Finally he nodded. "I'll go pack. You can call the bus station."

Dean nodded back, and when Sam turned, he breathed a heavy sigh. Of relief or disappointment, he wasn't entirely sure. It didn't matter anyway. This was better, Sam getting out like this. It was something that Dean kind of wished he'd been able to do.

Not to go to school of course, because that had just never been his thing, but just to be normal in some way. To be stable and happy. He kind of wanted it a little more, now that Sam was going to have it.

He closed his eyes, and didn't let himself think about how much he was going to miss his little brother, less little by the day, and went to get the phone book.

***

Two hours later, they were at the station, Sam's sad little backpack carrying his only possessions in the world hooked over a shoulder, and they were waiting out on platform 6B. Dean had insisted on walking Sammy in, making sure he was settled, that he had his ticket and knew where he was going.

He'd ignored Sam's protests that he'd handled things a hell of a lot harder than getting on a bus, because really, it wasn't about helping him. He just kind of wanted to be around him for as long as he could. Despite Sam's assurances in the car ride on the way there, Dean didn't really think they'd keep in contact. Didn't think Sam would call, sure as hell didn't think they'd get together all the time.

Sam's optimism, his innocence and determination, was adorable. It was sweet that he thought they could still be brothers, or be brothers _again_, after the last year, and everything that had happened before. But barring extenuating circumstances, Dean just couldn't see it.

Sam would be off at study groups and pep rallies, and New Year's with his girlfriend, and it wouldn't be long before Dean and John and the monsters they fought would fade into distant memory. Just the thought of it made Dean's chest feel tight, but honestly, he really hoped it would happen that way. It was better.

Sam deserved better.

They were mostly quiet, both of them leaning against the brick wall a few meters down from the bus, with half a dozen other people in line in front of them. There were still a few minutes until the bus started boarding, and it didn't look like it was going to be full. They'd gotten there ten minutes ago, took up their positions soon after that, and over that time, Sam had moved, gradually, so that he was now resting flush against Dean, legs and hips and shoulders touching.

Dean never once made a move to stop him, or pull away.

When Sam slid his hand over, fingers trailing lightly over Dean's thigh and up, fingers playing over Dean's, unsure and hesitant, Dean spread his fingers wide, slit Sam's between them, and held on tight. If he couldn't tell Sam what he was feeling with words, at least he could show him. And Sam was smart. He'd get it.

It was another few minutes, them just standing there, holding hands like the world would fly apart if they let go, and then the driver showed up, opened the door, and started to let the passengers in.

"Okay, I guess…" Sam said gripped the strap of his bag and adjusted it unnecessarily. "It's time to go."

Dean didn't say anything, just looked down at their joined hands, and slowly opened his fingers, watching as each one unfurled, and Sam's hand slipped from his grip.

"I mean it, Dean," Sam said. "Just because I'm going away, it doesn't mean you and I have to stop being… brothers." Dean winced slightly at the pause. Yeah, they hadn't been together in a long time, and they'd both been with other people in that time, but really, there was nothing and nobody that could possibly contend with what Dean and Sam shared. Sexual or not, they could never love anyone as much as they loved each other.

Dean didn't respond, just let Sam blink at him a few times. "You're up," Dean finally pointed out, when a couple of the people that were in line behind Sam had already boarded, and he was the only one left standing outside.

Sam sighed, and closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said and opened them again. "Yeah. I'll call you, Dean. I promise."

He turned to leave, took a step, then another, and Dean's brain melted down, or backfired, or something, because he shot forward, grabbed Sam's arm, and spun him around. "You won't," he hissed, and it might even have been an order. A plea for Sam not to call him. To make a clean break. "You're gonna have a new life now, Sammy. A good life. And you deserve it. You won't even be thinking about me, pretty soon."

Sam opened his mouth to respond, probably to tell Dean that he didn't know what he was talking about, but Dean shut him up by leaning in and pressing his lips to Sam's. It wasn't quick, and it wasn't chaste. It was hard and insistent, pressing. And when Sam got over his shock he opened to it, his mouth going lax, and widening, letting Dean in.

Sam sagged against him, arms folding around Dean and pulling him close, like he was relieved, like he'd been waiting for this, but hadn't wanted to start it, because he wasn't sure how Dean would react. And honestly, Dean didn't know either. He hadn't known until just that second that he'd wanted to kiss Sam. And even while he was doing it, he wasn't too sure.

It still wasn't a sexual attraction for him, and he still only saw Sam as his little brother. A little brother who he loved more that reason should really allow, but still. But he just couldn't let him go like this. There was a very real possibility that he'd never see Sam again, as much as they both didn't want that to be true, and if that was to be the case, he wanted them both to have a nice memory of their last time together.

The kiss lasted probably a little too long, because when they finally separated, some of the passengers were staring at them through the windows with looks of impatience, clearly wanting to get on the road. Sam was the last to board.

Dean turned his head and offered them a sarcastic smile, and he was just about ready to raise his hand and show them a proud middle finger, but Sam caught it, wrapped his fingers around Dean's wrist and pulled his arm down.

"I have to ride with those people for six hours," he said, but he was smiling against Dean's cheek.

Dean snickered, and his hand went to Sam's hip, holding him gently. "Tell them I said 'hi'."

Sam let out a long breath, and rested his forehead against Dean's, and then stood up straight. They were the same height now, and Dean tried not to feel emasculated by that.

"Dean I… Thank you."

And he could have meant so many things. Thank you for the ride, for the kiss, for the shaky, mutually abusive relationship, or for being the best brother he knew how, or a dozen other things. He probably meant all of them. Mostly, Dean thought he meant thank you for letting him go.

He offered Sam a lopsided smile, and didn't feel bad about his eyes starting to water, because the tears on Sam's face were already working their way over his cheekbones and down to his jaw. "Take care of yourself, Sammy," he said, and took a step away from Sam, before Sam could do it first.

Sam's eyes got wetter at that, his cheeks sloppier, and he snorted, snot and spit bouncing off his nasal cavities, and his smile was bright. "I love you, Dean," he answered, took a clumsy step backwards, and turned away, heading towards the door of the bus.

Dean spun around as soon as Sam's foot touched the first stair, and he made his fast way through the terminal and out to the parking lot, and into his own car, without looking back.

This was a serious curveball, but it wasn't the end of the world. Dean just needed to learn how his life worked without Sam around, and knowing that he wasn't coming back. As he started up his baby, and pulled out of the lot, headed back to Pastor Jim's, and Dad, he had the sinking suspicion that it was going to be a lot harder than he'd ever thought.

Sam was all he'd had. Dean was all Sam had had. And now they were both alone.

END


End file.
